Inadvertent Misdemeanors
by lilien passe
Summary: Harried med-student Gilbert is awoken one night by a clumsy burglar. He rushes to the defense of his ancient television, only to find that the intruder is less a burglar and more an incredibly lost drunk. Eventual Gil/Lutz. Thank tumblr for the breaking and entering AU prompt.
1. ONE

Author's Notes

(~)

So there was this writing prompt about breaking and entering and I had to do it.

I had to.

I'll slowly post the chapters whenever I write them. Which will be whenever I'm frustrated with book. Which is becoming more and more frequent.

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors**

**ONE**

(~)

It was four thirty in the morning when Gilbert heard the first yowl.

He blinked sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up, staring at his bedroom door as though that would make a difference in his ability to perceive audio.

The yowl came again, louder and more persistent. And pissed off.

Gilbert lay back down with a groan, pressing his already sliced hands against his face.

No more.

No fucking more.

Agreeing to babysit three cats had seemed smart at the time. All they'd needed was their litter box and toys, and presto. Two hundred Euro in the bank. It was a good plan, it was a _solid_ plan.

Except that from the moment the cats first laid eyes on him they marked him as the devil, and they were the righteous angels of the Lord, bent on his destruction. They were so fucking sanctimonious about scratching the hell out of his arms, biting his toes, tripping him and making him fall face first into the Bunsen burner that served as his hot plate.

The first night Gilbert had built a barricade around his room. Cats, as it turned out, were good at jumping over barricades. Who knew.

The second night he'd shut the door like the genius he was (two nights to figure out he should shut the door), but one of the little shits could open doors. As he dimly remembered Eliza cheerfully informing him. She'd phrased it in a way that, at the time, had rang odd to him.

"You'll never be alone."

A good thing, he'd thought. That way they won't die. He'd be able to keep an eye on them.

The him of forty eight hours ago was a fucking jackass.

Another loud yowl made him sit up again, a harried look on his face. He reluctantly began to tug on his boots and gloves – necessary protection against the Beasts – but then another noise made him freeze.

The very quiet sound

Of a muttered 'fuck.'

Gilbert remained where he was, his heart in his throat. Right. So he was dealing with a burglar. The cats had obviously marked the man's tainted soul for extirpation as well, a small grace, but the most they'd be able to do was claw his little eyes out and then he'd be dealing with a blind and angry burglar.

Gilbert resolved to deal with the situation before blindness came into play. By using…

He scanned his room, his weak eyes trying to focus on objects in the dark. Dirty socks. Too time consuming a weapon, and the thought of them out of the hamper made him twitchy. Heavy medical reference. He'd probably concuss himself with it first before it could be of any use.

His eyes fell on the soccer ball stacked neatly with its fellow sports equipment brethren in his closet. Not the handiest of weapons but he was still a good shot. And it wasn't as though he had many breakables in the living room.

Or, his brain reminded him, you could just call the fucking cops.

Gilbert smacked himself in the forehead, jumping when he heard another curse from out in the living room. He retreated to his bed, his fingers scrambling around in the sheets searching for his phone.

Or, his brain reminded him, you could just call the fucking cops if you hadn't left your phone in the bathroom.

With a nervous wheezing noise Gilbert lowered his head to rest against his pillow. Right. RIGHT right.

Soccer ball it was.

He carefully crept out of bed, the cats' anxious yowling spurring him on. Soccer ball secured under his arm he held his breath and cautiously pushed open his door. He hadn't bothered to shut it all the way since opposable thumbs mutant cat could get it open anyway. There weren't any lights on in the living room, except for the dull glow of the TV he'd forgotten to shut off. Killing mother earth was starting to become one of his passive life goals.

Maybe that's why the cats were after him.

Gilbert held his breath as he peered around the corner, the soccer ball clutched to his chest. The living room window was wide open, the screen lifted. Useless thing. Why the hell had he shelled out for them. God he was so stupid. So stupid the bathroom was right there if he were a ballerina he could reach out with his toe and grab his stupid phone perched—

Right above the toilet.

Of course.

Too precarious to risk with his shaky nerves.

He glanced into the living room but didn't see any movement, save for the cats. The three creatures were hovering around the sofa, still yowling horribly. Every once in a while one of the cats would take a swipe at the hapless furniture, and it wasn't until part of the couch moved that Gilbert realized what was actually going on.

The burglar was taking a nap.

Or trying to, at least, but every time a cat claw connected with part of him he would grunt and swat at the animal before trying to reposition himself in a more defensive way. Gilbert waited until the man – gargantuan if the way his legs were hanging over the edge of the couch were anything to go by – fell still again before creeping forward towards the light switch. He'd throw the lights, bean the guy in the head with the soccer ball, and then dash into the bathroom and grab his cell once the man was dazed.

Clearly the best course of action.

A floorboard creaked underneath his foot and Gilbert froze, staring at the prone form on his sofa. When it didn't twitch, he cautiously reached out to rest his finger against the light switch. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, so loudly it was a miracle it wasn't waking the burglar up.

He counted to three. Twice. Okay three times. Three and a half—

In the middle of two, one of the cats suddenly decided to pounce on the dozing man. Gilbert could practically hear its claws sinking into supple abdominal flesh. The loud yell of pain a moment later confirmed it.

In a rush of stupid adrenaline Gilbert threw the switch, taking advantage of the burglar's harried state. He cocked his arm back, the soccer ball aimed at the burglar's – oh, blonde – head. He caught a flash of confused blue eyes before he screamed, "I already had to sell my PlayStation what more do you want?!" and hurled the soccer ball forward.

It connected squarely with the man's chin. His head made a horrible cracking noise when it hit the wall behind him – or maybe it was the wall giving way – and despite himself Gilbert winced before remembering he had a job to do. He scuttled into the bathroom like a terrified lobster and managed to grab his phone without sending it into the drink. He returned to the living room, triumphant yet terrified, and brandished the device at the dazed intruder.

"I have phone!"

No. Fuck.

He tried again, shoving aside a cat (gently) when it tried to eat his bare toes.

"I'm going to call the police! Totally what I was going to say the first time! So just stay there and don't move or you'll get another –fuck!"

Gilbert yelped in pain as one of the cats sank its claws into his foot, drawing blood. He quickly hopped into the kitchen before he bled all over his carpet, and turned on his phone. Password. What the fuck was his phone password.

He stared blankly at the intruder on his couch as though he could somehow help him remember. The man – tall, blonde, looked to possess an IQ of twelve – was still lying there stunned. His hair was disheveled, and his suit – fucking Armani by the looks of it – was wrinkled to hell and back. The burglar remained motionless, save for his huge fingers that twitched every so often.

He didn't stay still for long.

With a low groan of pain the intruder sat up, clutching at the back of his head. He blinked slowly, his gaze moving around the room to focus on Gilbert skulking in the kitchen. His eyes widened and Gilbert took a step back, still brandishing phone.

Before he could make another idle threat – oh fuck emergency call was RIGHT THERE he didn't even need his stupid password – the intruder spoke.

"Who're you?"

His voice was slurred, either from alcohol or concussion Gilbert wasn't sure, but his tone was one of genuine confusion. Gilbert bristled.

"Don't burgle my indignation too! That's my question! Why the hell are you in my apartment?!"

The man rubbed the back of his head, wincing.

"…When did Kiku get cats…" he mumbled, staring blankly at the three animals rubbing up against his legs.

The blood drained from Gilbert's face.

Oh no.

The man was hallucinating.

And what was a Kiku.

Gilbert eyed the soccer ball resting underneath the window on the far side of the living room. Maybe he could go in for another hit… disorient the man so the police would have time to get there before he was ritually disemboweled and offered to Kiku. Which was obviously a pagan god of some kind.

"I should be asking you that," he said accusingly, edging towards the soccer ball. "What the hell kind of burglar breaks into a guy's house just to scare the shit out of some cats and sit on a sofa?"

"I don't think these cats have ever been afraid of anything," the man mumbled, pulling his legs up and sitting princess style on the sofa. Out of necessity, obviously (the cats were staring at his toes like they were tiny sausages). He suddenly tensed and turned to stare at Gilbert, his blonde hair falling in his eyes.

"Wait – burgle?"

He held out his hands, his speech so slurred Gilbert had to concentrate to understand.

"Not burlgerger," the man babbled weakly, "No. I'm – drunk. God I'm so drunk I've never been this drunk before and Kiku – friend. Lives here. So I thought… it's early. Really morning and I couldn't find my wallet or phone for cab so just… resting until sober. I knocked – did you not hear me knock? No one answered. I knocked a lot it hurt."

The man held out his hand, displaying his slightly bruised knuckles.

Gilbert furrowed his brow, recalling a few muffled banging noises he'd heard hours ago. Or minutes. It was hard to tell when he was sleep deprived.

"I don't know who the hell Kiku is, man, but they don't live here," he finally muttered, his eyes still darting between the soccer ball and the not-burglar. Alleged not –burglar.

The man blinked slowly and then sat back, looking completely stunned.

"Oh," he whispered.

He sounded so helpless and lost that it made Gilbert pause in his quest for Braining 2: The Return of Skullcrack. He took a cautious step towards the man, pushing aside more blood thirsty cats.

"…Does Kiku have a last name?" he finally prompted. Maybe the guy lived in the complex.

The burglar wrinkled his forehead as though he'd just been asked to solve a differential equation.

"…Honda," he finally said, sounding proud of himself. "Like the car."

"Honda like the car," Gilbert repeated, still keeping his distance from the man as he edged around the room. Recognition suddenly dawned.

"Oh! Oh – fuck. That Honda," Gilbert groaned, slapping his hand against his forehead. "He's up a floor. And also out of town – I'm collecting his mail. And that's more information than you need to know."

The man on the couch perked up at that.

"Collecting mail? So – key?" he asked hopefully.

Gilbert winced. The guy was built like an American football player – the ones that had to run really fast and shove guys aside like they were made of straw. Really didn't mesh well with stupid drunk.

"I've got the key to his mailbox, yeah," Gilbert finally supplied, reaching the soccer ball. He bent down to pick it up. "But not his house key."

The not-burglar visibly wilted, letting out a disheartened 'ow' when one of the cats sank its claws into his knee as it scrambled up on the couch. He let out a little breath and then slowly pushed himself to his feet. Gilbert watched with a wary expression on his face as the man wobbled a bit and then steadied himself.

The man sucked in a bit of air, his eyes fixed on a spot five centimeters to Gilbert's left.

"I'm very drunk," he said solemnly, his deep voice making the inane statement actually feel like it had some weight. He paused. "… Sorry. I meant – very sorry. To have burgled. Accidentally."

He swayed dangerously, his eyes going unfocused again. With a sudden burst of impulse Gilbert reached out to grab the man's arm before he fell. Which did absolutely no good because the man was fucking King Kong sized.

He fell backwards, cracking his head _again_ against the wall.

"Shit – god, fuck, dude I'm sorry," Gilbert babbled, suddenly panicked when the man's eyes opened again but were so far from focusing on anything in this realm he may as well have been looking at Pluto.

"'s okay," the man slurred. "Didn't – barely felt it."

Gilbert bit his lip, watching the man stare at the ceiling as though it were the single most fascinating object in the universe, before he made another impulse decision. Since those had been going really well.

"Don't move," he ordered, pushing aside another cat. "I mean it."

The man slowly nodded, and then said weakly, "That was dumb. Don't let me nod again, please. Mister."

"Gilbert," he automatically supplied. What the fuck ever. The guy wouldn't be able to remember the next morning anyway.

He quickly made his way into his room, finding a flashlight in his 'useful tools' drawer before returning to the drunk's side. He shined the light in his eyes, relieved when the pupils dilated properly. Not a concussion, then. And the man was breathing normally and – Gilbert pressed his fingers against his wrist – pulse was a little erratic but nothing to write home about.

So no alcohol poisoning.

Just really, really drunk.

Gilbert tried to swat aside his conscience with his strongest asset, rationale, who pointed out that having a stranger spend the night in his apartment was five shades of idiotic. But conscience rightly argued that if he kicked the man out of his apartment and the man got run over by a car or attacked by crows or ended up drowned in a gutter he'd have broken his oath before he even made it.

Gilbert ran a hand over his face, cursing himself softly.

Well that settled it.

He stood up, ignoring the confused, helpless look the drunkard gave him.

"Do I have to go?" the man asked slowly, obviously having to concentrate on every word. "I will. Go. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to kill your cats. Or. No. Sleep on couch."

"Just shut up. Please," Gilbert said wearily. He went to the kitchen to fetch water and aspirin, returning to the sofa and offering both to the man. When all he received in return was a blank stare, he let out a frustrated noise.

"Swallow these. Don't choke. Drink this."

He pressed the items into the man's hands. The intruder stared blankly at them for a moment and then followed instructions. Thank God.

Gilbert sat down on the coffee table, watching the other man warily.

"So do you have a name to go with the alcohol?" he finally asked, grabbing the bucket that he normally kept his controllers in (but was now sadly empty) and resting it next to the couch.

The man finished the water, licking a few drops off his lips. He gave Gilbert a very crooked smile.

"Ludwig."

Gilbert winced. The guy didn't look seventy, but what asshole parent would name their kid Ludwig.

"Okay, Ludwig, here's what we're going to do," he said. The man had responded positively to straight directions. Small favor. "You're going to lie down and sleep this off. There is a bucket next to your head. If you need to puke, you will puke in the bucket. The bathroom is there –" he pointed over his shoulder "—and if you need to urinate you will do so in there. Preferably in the toilet."

A slightly cross look took a hold of the man's expression and he mumbled, "I'm not going to pee on the floor like a barbar. Bar. Barian."

"So far you're not inspiring confidence," Gilbert muttered, tugging a blanket off the back of the sofa and tossing it at the guy. "I have to be at the hospital in three hours. I won't kick you out then but I will ask my neighbors to keep an eye on the place."

It would be hard to miss a gigantic blonde walking out with a fifteen-year-old hundred pound television, which honestly was the only thing of worth in the entire place.

The man – Ludwig, Gilbert reminded himself – lay down, tugging the blanket over his head. A muffled 'okay' drifted up from underneath the covers. Silence followed.

The cats batted at the lump and then decided that they had to sleep on it. All three arranged themselves on top of Ludwig's still form. Gilbert watched them warily for a moment, but when no more attacks came his way and Ludwig's breathing had evened out, he reluctantly left the room, shutting off the lights as he did so. He got back into bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

With a low groan he rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow.

An American football player was passed out on his sofa. Until he was corrected Gilbert was going to assume that's what the man did for a living. Explained the suit, the build, and the drunkenness.

Gilbert forced his eyes closed, tugging his panda against his chest.

No one was going to believe him tomorrow.


	2. TWO

Author's Notes

(~)

Chapter two, y'all!

OH NO THERE'S PLOT maybe?! What's gonna happennnnn I don't knoooooow

No seriously I have no idea I'm writing this by the seat of my pants.

I'm sorry.

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors**

**TWO**

(~)

When four A.M. rolled around, Gilbert was a bleary-eyed mess. He'd spent the last few hours listening to his surprise roommate hork his guts out every time he drifted into consciousness. Needless to say it didn't make for a very restful sleep. When he finally staggered out of his bedroom he couldn't help but feel resentful as he emptied the stranger's stomach contents into his toilet and rinsed the bucket. The man was out cold, finally, and after one last quick check to make sure he hadn't slipped into a coma, Gilbert tugged on his scrubs, splashed some water on his face, and was out the door. He stopped by his neighbor's – thankfully Sadiq next door worked nights – and asked him to keep an eye on the place, saying he had a shady relative staying with him. Sadiq (good man, attractive man) agreed, for the price of a few beers. With that, Gilbert fled the building, running to catch his train.

The hospital was blessedly busy when Gilbert arrived. No horrible car crashes or burn victims to deal with, just the usual string of children who had injured themselves in various ways ranging from infected paper cuts to broken legs. Gilbert picked up his assignments from the front desk and began his rounds.

There were benefits to working in a children's hospital. Your patients tended to not question your methods, first of all. They were generally cuter. Treatments worked faster.

Gilbert's already pale face drained of color.

And then there were the downsides.

Gilbert fiddled nervously with his glasses, his heart in his throat. Okay, so, surgeries on tiny children were a new field for him, but he had to get over himself. One dead tiny person didn't mean everyone on his table was going to die. And this was just a tonsillectomy. Child's play.

Oh god he could feel the hysterical laughter building. Over a bad pun. This was shit, he was shit, he was going to murder that little kid, probably remove their vocal chords instead or trip and fall and send the scalpel into their eyeball—

Whoa wait. No. No scalpelballs.

Gilbert glanced at his watch and then quickly finished his check-ups, the normal routine calming him. Distracting him from the thought of speared ocular nerves. His patients all tended to love him. They thought his weird hair and eyes were neat, they liked his colorful glasses, they liked the toys he gave them (goodbye, PlayStation). There were some that thought he was the devil, but that wasn't really their fault. Parents didn't usually like him. They thought he was too young, too relaxed (if only they knew), too cavalier with their children's health. Too albino. Which was always a fun one. Sometimes those attitudes rubbed off on children, because parents were little shits and couldn't be trusted. Adults in general were horrible, backstabbing monsters. Gilbert wanted as little to do with them as possible.

He checked his watch again and then said goodbye to tiny Alyssa. Hip replacement surgery. Her fracture just wouldn't heal right, it was incredibly frustrating. She gave him a smile, thanked him for the book, and he left. The check-ups had been enough to distract him from how exhausted he was, and how anxious that there was a fucking stranger in his apartment doing God knew what. He was grateful he'd only just moved and most of his stuff was still in storage. Even if the guy woke up and went rummaging around all he'd find were some dry textbooks. Nothing of import.

He'd better not fucking touch his DS, though. It was his one electronic he'd yet to guilt himself into parting with.

Prep was blessedly familiar. He'd worked as an assistant for years before going back to school to refine his degree. Washing up, disinfecting, different scrubs… they were all things he was familiar with.

The feel of a scalpel in his hand was not one of them.

He blinked sweat out of his eyes, staring at the little yellowed spots inside the kid's throat. The nurse next to him shifted and then lightly blotted his forehead.

"Doctor. Are you all right?"

"No," Gilbert mumbled, giving the nurse a harried look. "Bel, I'm not all right."

She sighed, but her green eyes were sympathetic.

"Need me to take over again? I won't tell."

"No."

He could tell she was pursing her lips behind her mask.

"We can't wait until Doctor Héderváry returns. You can't afford another—"

"Look, I know I can't keep foisting my patients off on Eliza, you don't need to remind me," Gilbert muttered, leaning over the patient. Two slices. He was a good surgeon, he could do it in two.

He heard Bel sigh, but then her foot lightly tapped against his.

"You'll be fine, Gilbert. Just don't let the parents know you almost had a heart attack over a tonsillectomy."

Gilbert nodded, his vision finally tunneling as he forgot his nerves, his training taking over. His hand grew steady, the feel of the metal in his hand fading away.

Two slices.

After the kid was wheeled into light post-op, Gilbert allowed himself to freak out. He tugged off his gloves and threw them into the bin, staring at his shaking hands. He heard Bel move next to him and heard her whistle lowly.

"Jesus, Gil. It's a miracle you didn't nick anything."

"Call the Pope, ask him to get my appointment to sainthood ready. I have two more this afternoon that will also end up being miracles. Boom. Required three right there," Gilbert muttered, flashing Bel a weak smile. She patted his shoulder as she passed.

"Just think about getting to go home. It's what sustains me."

"I've got a not-burglar waiting for me at home. Not exactly eager to return to clean that mess up," Gilbert said with a weak groan. "Fuck I forgot about him while I was in there. For two seconds I wasn't freaking out about him possibly stealing all my boxers or eating my frozen pizzas. I got them on sale, I'll never find a bargain like that again…"

"You've got a– what the hell's a notburglar?" Bel asked, bemused.

Gilbert waved his hand dismissively, his stomach still in knots from earlier. Didn't need the extra stressors of picturing some stranger in his house.

"He's a guy who breaks into your house at night just to sleep on the couch. He got the address wrong. I let him stay because again, sainthood. Imminent sainthood."

"Imminent murder victim is more like it. How are you so stupid and still alive?" Bel asked in wonder. "So there's a guy just… sleeping on your couch?"

"There is indeed a single man on my couch. Who I did not have sex with, before you ask even though yes he is conventionally attractive and was dressed well enough that implied either big money or that he sucks big money dicks for a living," Gilbert said quickly, interrupting whatever Bel was going to say next (which her expression hinted would be something along those lines). She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "Well good for you, I guess. Congrats on the lack of sex. Although I'm starting to understand why Edelstein has called you a blockhead on more than one occasion."

"Roderich calls me a blockhead because his AI chip prevents his interface from using adult cursewords," Gilbert drawled, a disgusted look on his face. Bel peered up at him, obviously curious, before her lips pulled up in a wicked grin.

"Oh dear. Still a bit of lingering resentment?"

Gilbert clicked his tongue even as he gratefully latched onto the new topic of conversation. Roderich was a familiar hatred. Enough to help him deal with his unfamiliar anxiety about the notburglar.

"He's an administrator. Eliza can do better and that's all I'm saying."

"It's not as if they're married," Bel pointed out. "Thankfully. Because I predict in a few months the whole thing will implode and one of us might get a chance. To use really creepy and stalkerish language but you know what I mean. It's not like she outright rejected you. There's no restraining order yet, anyway."

"Ugh," Gilbert groaned, pressing a hand against his face and mussing up his glasses. "Ugh. Ugh ugh why did it have to be him he has a goddamn mole on his face like he's a fancy lady from the turn of the century."

"Fancy lady," Bel repeated, obviously amused. She glanced at her watch and gasped. "Gil – er, Doctor, your next procedure is in ten minutes." She gave him an apologetic look. "Gossip time will have to wait for the next gripe fest. My brother's in town – he said he's looking forward to hustling your ass again in pool if you're up for it."

"Hustling – unicorn boy's brain is so soaked in hair gel it's given him memory problems," Gilbert muttered, heading towards the next surgery bay. He heard Bel laugh but missed whatever else she said as concentration thankfully took over again.

Two more.

Two more and then he'd get to quell at least a bit of the anxiety in his chest.

Notburglar better not have eaten his pizzas, though.

It was dark outside again by the time Gilbert was ready to go home. He stared mournfully up at the cloud-covered sky. He missed the sun. When he could finally work normal hours again he was going to eat lunch outside, at least. And burn himself and end up cursing nature and peeing on whatever insect was handy to extract his revenge, probably, but for the three pre-burn seconds it would be worth it.

His train creaked into the station and he stumbled off. His steps slowed as he approached his apartment building, and by the time he slotted the key into its home he was moving at a snail's pace.

His door was still intact, at least. Good sign.

He pressed an ear against the door, but other than the faint sound of the television – probably the news judging from the steady drone of voices – there was nothing.

He let out a little breath and carefully turned the key in the lock, pushing open the door. He had to immediately shove his foot against the opening to keep one of the cats from escaping. It decided to bite him in thanks for the rescue.

"Little _fucker_," Gilbert swore, his eyes tearing up with pain as he staggered inside. The beast's teeth were still latched onto what had to be a tendon, and he had to slam the door shut to keep another one from escaping, all while balancing on his lone un-mauled foot.

The cat's antics were enough for him to forget the true source of his anxiety for a few blissful seconds. But then a quiet clearing of the throat made him glance up, eyes wild, as he tried to focus on the source of the noise.

The notburglar was sitting on the edge of his couch, looking miserable, hungover, and extremely uncomfortable. His blonde hair was falling into his eyes, and every few seconds his meaty hands would swipe through it, trying to push it back. An exercise in futility.

He cleared his throat again and gave a very small nod in Gilbert's direction, which made him wince.

"Hello."

His voice was just as deep as Gilbert remembered. And sounded a hell of a lot better than the slurry mess it had been.

Gilbert raised a hand in reply, too busy unlatching claws from his skin to bother with proper verbalization for the moment. Once de-catted he stood up straight, staring warily at the notburglar. Ludwig. He'd almost forgotten the man came with a name in addition to the wrinkled designer suit.

"Hey." He peered into the bucket. "Oh, you stopped puking. Good for you."

The man's face turned an ugly red and he cleared his throat again. He wiggled around on the couch as though his ass were glued to the cushions, obviously too insecure to stand.

"Yes. About an hour ago the, uh… expelling ceased," he muttered, resting his hands on his knees. He worried at his lip, and Gilbert took note of a few other shallow cuts. Obviously a habit.

The notburglar suddenly glanced up at him, blue eyes sickeningly earnest.

"I'm so, so sorry," he said quickly, as though the words themselves were vomit buddies leftover from the night before. "It took me a couple hours to piece together – I don't really remember. Anything. If I have to be honest. Something about soccer or eating housepets but I have no idea where I am and – and there's a large, angry Turkish man outside who kept banging on the walls and barking at me to stay put or he'd call the cops and I didn't have a key so I didn't want to leave your apartment unlocked –"

He cleared his throat yet again, his ears pink.

Gilbert felt his stomach start to churn with something other than anxiety. Behemoths shouldn't be allowed to have habits like lip biting or ear pinkening.

The notburglar averted his eyes.

"You're going to think me a complete lush for asking," he mumbled. "But… where. Am I. Exactly. And who are you. And—" His cheeks joined in the rose parade. "And did I – I spent the entire night on this couch. …Right?"

Gilbert managed to bite back a snort of nervous laughter. Okay so the man hadn't actually burgled him. All three cats were still alive (the third one had made an appearance on his exposed Achilles during the notburglar's speech). His apartment wasn't covered in puke and Sadiq had done his job guarding the place.

Thank. God.

Gilbert moved to retrieve the bucket, amused when the man on the couch shied away from him.

"After the five hour sodomy session, yeah, you were pretty keen on the couch," he drawled, putting the bucket back where it belonged. The man behind him inhaled sharply, but before he could properly freak out Gilbert held up his hands, plastering a disarming smile on his face.

"Kidding. Kidding – sorry, I forgot you don't know me from Adam yet."

A look of murder momentarily took hold of the couch blonde, intense enough to make Gilbert's nervousness return and a wild through cross his mind that he didn't exactly know what the guy did for a living yet and that mobsters also tended to wear really nice suits. The malice thankfully passed quickly, and the man just nodded his head.

"That's a blessing at least," he muttered, fiddling with his suit coat lying next to him on the sofa. Blue eyes darted up, calculating as they fixed on Gilbert's face, and then a little smile twisted at the man's thin lips.

"Five hours though, really? That's giving your backside a lot of credit."

Gilbert let out a bark of surprised laughter, loud enough to make the cats dart around the living room to hide behind the sofa. God. Man had a sense of humor in addition to the looks. There was unfairness in the world and it was sitting on his couch.

The man, however, winced at the loud noise and clutched at his head. Gilbert immediately hissed in sympathy and went to get a glass of water, setting it down on the coffee table. The man took it with a mumbled thanks, sipping at it.

"I haven't had a hangover this badly before," he mumbled, closing his eyes . "And again I really… really am sorry. What happened, exactly?"

"To answer your previous questions with responses that aren't based on the list of ten worst things ever to say to strangers, I'm Gilbert, as I told you last night, and this is my apartment." Gilbert took a seat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table and jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. "You thought you were breaking into your friend Honda's place. I'm his neighbor, and saint aspirant. I let you sleep on my couch."

Ludwig's eyes opened, peering over the rim of the glass.

"And you're a doctor?"

"Correct," Gilbert said as cheerfully as he could. "And you'll note the relative absence of blood on my scrubs. Means I'm a good doctor."

"Or just a good launderer," Ludwig quietly countered, making Gilbert laugh again. One of the cats opened its shitty little mouth to take a bite out of Ludwig's foot, but Gilbert quickly darted in, grabbing the animal and tugging it away, ignoring its yowls of protest. Ludwig shot him a grateful look. "Thanks. They've been slowly chipping away at my flesh all day. I was starting to feel like Prometheus."

Handsome, funny, and apparently educated in the classics.

Shit.

Gilbert quickly stood up to get himself something to drink, trying to will his cheeks to return to their normal lack of color. Just because the guy hadn't robbed him or turned out to be a crazed rapist did not mean he was fair game for anything. And while Gilbert was proud to have a foot planted firmly in any and all gender camps, his experience with all but the uterinely inclined was a bit… lacking. Which in and of itself was throwing him for a loop. He wasn't used to feeling liked he'd been hit by a cement truck at the sight of a Star Wars era Harrison Ford smile.

He was probably just tired.

"It's no problem. They're not mine, by the way," he added hastily as he grabbed himself a beer. "I'm cat sitting for a friend while she's out of the country with her insufferable boyfriend."

Ludwig raised a pale eyebrow, but all he said was a neutral, "Good to know. Even a few seconds of pretending to tolerate them was starting to be too much. I'm more of a dog person, and – shit." He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced towards Gilbert. "Did I introduce myself last night?"

"Name of Ludwig. That's about all I got," Gilbert said politely. "You don't have to, though, I mean – I'm not going to file a police report or anything. You're good."

"Still, I'd feel more comfortable if you at least knew the name of the man who spent the night on your couch. Call me old fashioned."

Ludwig pushed himself to his feet and walked into the kitchen, fishing around in his pocket for a moment. He held out a business card, a small smile on his face.

"Ludwig Schmidt. Information's all there, if you care to read it. I'll wait."

Gilbert gave the man an odd look – one point negative for being kind of weird – but then read the card. It was nice paper, very thick. Professional looking lettering, and a familiar seal in the upper right corner.

His eyes immediately flew open and he stared up in shock at the blonde.

"_Ambassador_?!"

"Assistant to the," Ludwig quietly corrected, a tired smile on his face. "Although thank you, your reaction will be my ego boost for the day. I'm a bit lacking in the area considering I spent the night in a state even a sorority freshman would be ashamed of."

"I'm pretty sure anyone with intestines would feel ashamed," Gilbert remarked absently, turning the card over in his hands. He glanced up at the man, smiling nervously.

"So can I hold you for ransom now that I know you're worth something or is that considered a faux pas?"

Ludwig laughed again, but then clutched at his head and muttered, "Fucking idiot stop doing that."

Gilbert automatically fetched the bottle of aspirin from above the sink and held out a few pills towards the man.

"Doctor says take these," he ordered. "And before you ask yes I do enjoy exploiting my title, thanks for noticing."

Ludwig took the pills, swallowing them dry before croaking, "And you're an actual doctor, right?"

"Internet certified as of six hours ago," Gilbert said, pouring the man a glass of water. "And don't do that. Bad for your stomach."

Ludwig obediently downed the water and set the glass on the counter.

"Duly noted," he said, heading back to the couch. He picked up his suit coat and shrugged it on. After a moment Gilbert followed him, curiosity making him ask, "So how exactly did you end up that drunk last night? A man your size and build – it would take a full shelf to bring you down, I'd think."

"Probably was a full shelf," Ludwig sighed, running his large fingers through his hair again, a pensive frown on his face that made him look like Marlon Brando. Pre Godfather.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, his brain crying a helpless litany of 'fuck.' Imperative and lament.

"O-Oh?"

Ludwig nodded, oblivious to Gilbert's mild distress.

"We received a grant we'd been pushing for – my whole team was ecstatic. And it was my project and I always forget that 'only one more' in this country means 'give me the entire bottle I am still clearly capable of making rational decisions.'"

Gilbert laughed at that, the other man's disgruntled tone (and a few dredged-up memories of him vomiting the night before) dispelling the weird churning in his gut. Hard to feel all tingly when thinking about projectile stomach acids.

"Well, kudos, no matter the cause. I've never seen anyone that far gone who didn't succumb to alcohol poisoning. Which don't worry, I checked." He tapped his glasses. "Doctor."

"So you said," Ludwig snorted, raising an eyebrow. He hesitated, and for a moment almost looked nervous. He cleared his throat. Another bad habit, probably.

"Is… is there a last name that goes with that title?" he asked, his voice full of affected politeness and poorly-masked interest.

Gilbert stared at the other man, trying not to read too much into the question or the tone. He finally got his shit together enough to stammer out, "Weillschmidt. Don't – don't ask. It's a fucking weird name. Pretty sure someone misspelled it on my birth certificate."

Ludwig furrowed his brow at the 'someone,' but then nodded slowly.

"And you work at?"

"Saint Maria's. Children's hospital."

"I see."

Ludwig straightened his crooked tie and gave Gilbert a polite nod.

"Well, Doctor Weillschmidt. Thank you very much for tending to me. I owe you my dignity, at least." He hesitated for long enough to make Gilbert edgy, and then said in a much more unsure tone, "If it's not too much trouble, would you – I'd like to thank you, somehow. Not—God that sounded a lot less sexual in my head."

Gilbert burst out laughing again, the man's embarrassed posture clashing horribly with his posh suit.

"You don't owe me, it's fine," he said once his laughter had subsided. "Just doing my job."

"Your job would have been to call the police and let me sleep it off in a cell," Ludwig politely reminded him, although he seemed more relaxed after the laughter. "Please. Just dinner or something. I know you doctors are busy, but my schedule is relatively free. You have my number so if you have a bit of time… it would go a long way towards easing my guilty conscience."

Gilbert automatically fiddled with the card still clutched in his fingers, his cheeks slowly coloring again. Dinner. Okay. Dinner was food. Obviously. A thing. Nothing necessarily other than an obligation or a thank you.

But the guy could have left right away.

Gilbert finally just nodded, not really wanting to give a firm answer right away.

"Sure – dinner. I could maybe swing that," he said with a forced air of casualness. "Like you said, busy. Lots of sick children, posing for the media, signing novelty-sized charity checks…"

Ludwig for his part looked relived, and he nodded slightly.

"Thank you. I really do mean that. I look forward to hearing from you."

He made his way to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. He glanced over his shoulder, a nervous spark in his eye.

"That… that man in the hallway. Is, er… is he…"

"Sadiq's at work now, buddy. You're safe," Gilbert said soothingly, trying not to laugh as the man let out a huge sigh of relief and weakly groaned 'thank god.' "Sorry for siccing him on you, by the way," Gilbert continued. "I was sure you were after my CRT television."

"Yes, you're on to me," Ludwig said dryly, a small smile on his face. "I steal obsolete and antiquated technology to sell back to sitcom sets that take place in the 90s for a nominal fee."

"I have a dot matrix printer collecting dust in the back of my closet and enough floppies to build a fort out of if you're interested. For next time," Gilbert said as lightly as he could, feeling a rush of nervous energy when Ludwig laughed again, the noise much more genuine.

"For next time," the blonde agreed, opening the door. He gently pushed a cat back inside with his foot, waving as he did so.

The door shut behind him.

Gilbert made his way to the front windows, watching Ludwig leave the building, feeling like a complete stalker as he did. He pressed his forehead against the glass, his glasses in turn pushing painfully against the bridge of his nose.

Ludwig walked towards the train station, his long legs moving at a surprisingly leisurely gait. He crossed the street and entered the station, disappearing from view.

Gilbert remained transfixed for a moment longer before slowly sliding down the glass, his chin bumping against the windowsill. A cat gnawed on one of his toenails but he ignored it, staring morosely out the window. That had been his best interaction with a human being outside of a hospital. The lady at his grocery had started ignoring his attempts of friendly chitchat, and he was fairly sure the building's super was going to have him committed. Sadiq was nice, but gone most of the time. Honda he barely knew. The rest of the building's residents he recognized by face only. His adoptive parents hardly ever called, his one ex-girlfriend was hell bent on never speaking to him again.

And it had taken a drunken man on his sofa to make him realize how lonely he was.

He winced as a cat bit into his calf, and he shook the beast off.

Not lonely enough to gather a hoard of these monsters, thank God. He'd off himself before sinking that far.

He remained staring out the window, moving only when his stomach let out a loud growl. Reluctantly he pushed himself to his feet and started making dinner, which involved the arduous task of preheating the oven for pizza. As he watched the numbers slowly rise on the display, an absent smile crossed his face, the card still held in his fingers.

He wondered how frequently ambassador's assistants got grants approved.

Hopefully often.


	3. THREE

Author's Notes

(~)

More characters and more interaction! And I still don't know what I'm doing, really! But I'm enjoying writing something that's so casual and fun. I hope you guys are enjoying reading it!

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**THREE**

(~)

Gilbert sat hunkered behind his desk, turning over the business card in his fingers. A week's worth of nervous fidgeting had smoothed the corners and made the embossed lettering on the front sink flush with the surface. He'd stared at the numbers so much he had them memorized. Which for some reason never translated to his fingers actually moving on his phone. There had been several aborted attempts, all cumulating in little nervous twitches that made him doubt his virility.

"I've half a mind to buy you a little frame for that thing. You'll probably wear it into oblivion by next week otherwise."

Gilbert slowly lifted his head to glare at Elizaveta, perched in the doorway. Her volumes of curls were pinned up catty-wompus, making her look extra crazed. She wiggled her fingers at him, teeth bared in a sporting grin.

"I'm back."

"Good. Get your fucking cats out of my apartment," Gilbert said dully, propping his chin back up on his desk.

"Get your fucking cats out of my apartment, please," Eliza corrected, strolling into his office and plopping down in one of the chairs. "And nice to see you too." She raised an eyebrow and lightly poked the card with one chewed-up nail.

"Bel told me all about your intruder. In the spirit of female friendship, I can't disclose the exact nature of our bet, but let's just say there's money riding on certain intricacies of this little date."

"It's not a date," Gilbert said automatically, sitting up. "Life is not your queerbait Sherlock fanfiction."

"My award-winning queerbait Sherlock fanfiction, if you please," Eliza drawled, examining her nails and ripping off another hangnail. "And this is where you're supposed to say 'welcome back' and greedily ask what sorts of souvenirs I bought you. Don't break character."

Gilbert tucked the little business card away in his back pocket and obligingly held out his hand.

"Welcome back. I deserve a trophy for taking care of your hell monsters, but I'll settle for whatever trinket you picked up last second for me," he obediently droned.

Eliza smiled and patted his wrist before plopping a greasy package of chocolates in his open palm.

"They're half gone," she warned. "And melted. We got stuck in traffic and I got hungry. And you're allergic to macadamias so you probably should only eat three or so unless you feel like playing poster child for anaphylactic shock."

Gilbert gingerly opened the bag, peering inside at the sad looking confections.

"I'm allergic to practically everything to some degree. It won't kill me," he muttered, fishing out a chocolate and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed the sub-par candy, he studied Eliza's expression. She looked worn out; lines around her eyes, Hermione Granger hair, infuriating grinding of her teeth. Being the jackass that he was, all of these things spelled good news for Gilbert.

He propped his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, smiling.

"So. How did it go?"

Eliza pursed her lips. Another hangnail was viciously rent asunder.

"Roderich does not travel well. He's like an exotic fruit."

Gilbert filed away the description for later insult usage.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said neutrally. "Our dear director comes from hearty enough stock. I can't imagine—"

"Aha, no."

Eliza shoved her hand against Gilbert's mouth, her green eyes flashing with barely-fettered hostility.

"We're not going to go down that road," she said sweetly. "Because you're a jealous little bastard and Roderich is a perfectly nice person, despite his bruiseability. Which you are not."

Gilbert wiggled free of her grip and sat back in his chair, his lips twisted into a pout.

"I'm a nice person," he muttered. "I let someone sleep on my couch."

"You let a terrifyingly large, yet handsome, drunk sleep on your couch," Eliza corrected, her eyes narrowing ."This does not automatically negate all the stupid shit you've done recently."

"What stupid shit?" Gilbert challenged. "As I recall it was _me_ who volunteered to leave the apartment. Which was a good decision. The best."

"I made you volunteer because I'm spineless," Eliza muttered. Gilbert could practically hear the self-flagellation. "I should have pulled the trigger a long time ago when you started obsessing. And you know the stupid shit I'm referring to is more of the obsessive, needy kind, less the U-Haul kind."

Gilbert flinched at her words, the fun memories of surrendering his living space to a slimy invader still too fresh to really joke about. He fell silent, staring at the intricate patterns in his wooden desk.

Living with Eliza had been a mistake to begin with, if he had to be honest with himself. They'd met in med school, had hit it off. Really, really well. But as she constantly enjoyed reminding him, a few drunken rounds of (in her words) some of the worst sex she'd ever had did not make them exclusive. It didn't make them anything. No matter how much sense it made to him, no matter how much their mutual friends treated them like a couple, Eliza had chiseled a line in their relationship and steadfastly refused to cross it. Gilbert admired her for it. Her tenacity. Convictions.

Still fucking sucked.

The day Eliza had first spoken about Roderich with something other than loathing or irritation in her voice had sounded the first nail in the coffin. It was just a comment about his fucking sandwich. Something about how egg salad should be outlawed from the break room if you were going to eat it five days in a row. She'd said it absently, her eyes trained out the window, her full bottom lip pursed in contemplation of the director's lunch choices.

Gilbert wasn't gifted with deep emotional wisdom, but even he knew that keeping track of someone's sandwich type meant they were paying attention. And with Elizaveta, her attention bought you either respect or detestation. Gilbert had dully hoped for detestation, but during the next staff meeting, she'd averted her eyes when the director addressed her directly, and he knew his guess had been wrong.

A week later he'd moved out. She called him pathetic and childish and he yelled back the opposite while silently agreeing with her. He could be friends with Eliza. He loved being friends with Eliza because he didn't fall head over heels for people who sucked and were terrible friends. And the number of people he felt comfortable calling friend could be counted on one hand. He clung to those few raised fingers with a repulsive possessiveness, because he was a bitter, ugly person, burdened with the gift of heightened self-awareness.

So moving out it was. It was either that or intensive therapy. Moving was cheaper.

The pity party had lasted approximately forty eight hours. Then he'd realized he could microwave popcorn naked and any regrets had been thrown out the window. Even just a few weeks of distance had brought a refreshing clarity to his fixation on Eliza. There was still the occasional jealous pang, but it had less to do with romance and more to do with the fact that Roderich was a fucking egotistical prick who he would rather see buried to death under a pile of flatulent gerbils than just about any other sight in the world. And the feeling was apparently entirely mutual. Roderich's little judgmental sniffs were difficult to interpret any other way.

Eliza could do better. She was wasting the best years of her life saddled to an out of touch aristocratic posture. And that was what was fueling his ire, not some half-shanked-to-death emotional clinginess.

It was more like seventy-thirty. Still.

Gilbert fished the business card out of his pocket again, peering over his glasses at the words. A little flick to his forehead made him look up, and he balked as green eyes stared fixedly at him.

"Call him," Eliza demanded. "For fuck's sake, Gilbert, this is why you have no friends. You're spineless."

"Really feeling the love in this room right now," Gilbert muttered, the words hurting more than he wanted them too. "And going out to dinner with someone as a formal thank you for not turning them into the police isn't friendship, either."

"Oh my god you're so pathetic," Eliza groaned, rolling her eyes. "If it really means nothing then just call the guy. I've been around you for less than five minutes and you're already driving me insane with your indecisive moping. It's Lian all over again. I'm amazed your nursing staff hasn't shoved one of their piping-hot lean cuisines in your face just to give it a bit of variety."

It was the juvenile posturing that made Gilbert finally snap. Eliza could be really goddamn annoying. Self-righteous. Cocksure. Pugnacious.

Fuck, maybe she and Roderich did deserve each other. Their thesaurus entries were incredibly complimentary.

"And that's my threshold for today," he said cheerfully, shoving Elizaveta's chair away with his foot, sending her rolling back a few feet. "I've got surgery in fifteen anyway."

Eliza remained in her chair until it came to a stop, and then she stood up, a mean, calculating look on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut and simply muttered a terse, "Glad to see we're back in the bellicosity saddle."

"It's what makes the world turn, Héderváry. All the tropical weather and exotic fruit must have scrambled your brains and made you forget," Gilbert said, standing up as well as he pocketed the card.

Eliza rolled her eyes again and headed for the door, muttering under her breath, "You were nicer when you thought you were in love with me."

Gilbert felt his stomach roll unpleasantly and he stared at Eliza's retreating back. God damn she was mean. Or he was just overly sensitive.

He shoved another chocolate in his mouth and opted for the former.

"Greatest delusionary joke of my life," he muttered around the chocolate, slamming his desk drawer shut with a bit more force than necessary. "Get the fuck out, Eliza. Thanks for the chocolates."

She waved as she turned the corner and left, calling out over her shoulder, "Just call him and get it over with! It'll help with the PMS."

Gilbert managed to put a lid on his temper before he did something stupid. Like throw the nearest object against the wall and—

Okay fuck. Damn his heightened reflexes and impetuous nature.

He stared morosely at the tiny dent in his wall and then moved to collect the pens and pencils and the now-dented pencil cup. Poor thing hadn't stood a chance.

The last pen slid back into its home with a pleasant clanging noise just as another knock sounded on his door. He lifted his head to see Bel standing there, her clipboard resting against her hip.

"So Eliza's in rare form today," she said without preamble. "Did you piss her off or is she in stress mode?"

"Stress mode. I think," Gilbert muttered, pushing himself to her feet. "Forgot how mean she is when she's sleep deprived."

Bel hummed a non-committal 'mm' and flipped over a few pages on her board. "You reviewed the file again, I hope?"

"Reviewed," Gilbert said wearily, grabbing his ID badge and clipping it back onto his scrubs. "Thanks for the reminder."

"It's my job," Bel said neutrally, raising an eyebrow at him. She whistled lowly, peering into his eyes. "Shit. She really did a number on you, didn't she? Still know how to play the unrequited love card?"

"Why does everyone keep using that word. I don't think you really know what it means," he muttered, pushing his way past his nurse and out into the hallway. Bel followed him.

"'Card'?" she asked, amused. "Well you would be the expert considering how often you've been staring at that one in your pocket. …Speaking of which –"

"I'm really not interested in whatever twisted game you and the she-beast are up to, thanks," Gilbert deadpanned.

"Told you, did she?" Bel let out a little huff. "I should have known. She hates the Spice Girls, female confidentiality agreements mean nothing to her."

"I wasn't aware there was a correlation." Gilbert slid his ID card in the reader and stepped into the prep room, Bel still behind him. They began washing up in silence until Bel spoke again.

"You didn't—I mean. It never got that serious, did it?" she asked carefully. "I'd feel like a worm if I'd been telling you all about my dastardly Eliza-related gayness while you were still holding an Olympic-sized torch for her."

"No Animorphing necessary," Gilbert muttered, drying his hands before turning to let Bel help him with his scrubs. "My torch was more candle sized."

"Fancy Yankee Candle Company candle or more impecunious pioneer woman candle?"

"What – no, god. Bel, just a normal candle," Gilbert said, staring at his nurse with a bemused expression. "Good to know your mental yardstick is still a complex labyrinth."

"I enjoy the fact that your analogy makes my brain a Minotaur," Bel said solemnly, finishing getting ready herself. "But back to lumens, can you just give me a rough wattage estimate?"

"Extinguished," Gilbert said flatly. "Being demoted from friend to cat-sitter who receives squashed chocolates as payment tends to burn out any remaining wax pretty quickly."

Bel made a little 'ah' noise as she glanced one last time at the chart mounted on the wall. "Well if nothing else she's twisted your briefs – sorry, boxer briefs – enough to quell your nervousness, right? Because I'd really like this kid to leave here without a thyroid and with most of her blood still in its vessels."

Gilbert nodded, his stomach, for once, calm. Eliza had that effect on him. When they were talking everything felt paramount. Each word had a bone-shattering weight to it that made him frenzied and upset with the pain in an instant. It was verbal warfare, each trying to out-guerilla the other in 1940s Spain style.

Five fucking minutes after the fact and every scrap of conversation was dandelion fluff. And all he could do was stand there staring at the seeds, feeling like a complete lunatic for the bruises on his ego.

"I'll send her a thank you card," he muttered, tugging up his mask before heading into the room. The observation deck above the operating room was thankfully devoid of life. He and the anesthesiologist had a terse chat, and then everything but the body in front of him was blessedly driven from his mind.

Two hours later and he was back behind his desk, staring at the card again. It was time to go home. He'd already missed his first train. There would be another but it tended to be full of drunks and drunks on trains tended to vomit more than their pedestrian counterparts.

He flipped the card over, wondering if, perhaps, he was creating a mountain out of a scrap of paper just to give his brain something else to focus on. The cats would be out of his apartment by now. He could go home, be in peace, and instead he was sitting at his uncomfortable desk, fixating on a card he'd already memorized.

Or maybe he was just stalling because now that Eliza had told him to do it, there was nothing he wanted to do so little as call the stupid number.

With a quiet groan he rested his head against the desk, his phone in his hand and his thumb over the first key.

"Just call it, asshole," he hissed, hoping the night staff wasn't hovering outside his office as they were wont to do. Apparently he said things during his late-night anxiety fits that translated into the most hilarious Bulgarian jokes. It was the only explanation he could think of.

While his brain was contemplating Bulgarians and their twisted humor, his thumb had decided to follow the idle threat and finished dialing the last number. Gilbert stared blankly at his smartphone's screen, the cheerful ringing animation sending him into a frozen panic.

He heard a distant click, and then a quiet, gruff voice.

"Schmidt."

Gilbert nearly dropped his phone in his haste to press it to his ear, desperate to say something before the man thought the call was just a stupid prank and hung up and he'd have to do this inane dance all over again.

"Hey, it's me."

Silence followed his rushed words, and then a slightly confused, "Me is who? Wait – no. Who is this?"

Gilbert remembered how the man's ears had turned pink. He could almost hear it happening over the phone. A few of the knots in his stomach mercifully untwisted.

"Me is Gilbert," he supplied helpfully, his voice more in its normal range than it had been during his first attempt at human speech. "Cat guy. Only please – god no don't associate me with those creatures. Couch guy. We'll go with that one."

There came a moment's pause and then a quiet 'ah' of recognition.

"Doctor Weillschmidt. Good evening."

A gay little fairy danced across Gilbert's mind, its sparkly pants plastered with the words 'He Remembered Your Name And Profession.'

Gilbert choked it to death with its own Ribbon Dancer before it could multiply.

"That's me," he said lightly, the more rational part of his brain screaming variations of 'act casual' at him even while his heart was busy flopping all over his ribcage. "I'm surprised you remembered."

"Let's be polite and say you made an impression," the deep voice said, a note of laughter in its timbre. Ludwig cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was more subdued. "I thought maybe you'd misplaced my card. Or that I really was as incredibly moronic as I feared and you took my information out of pity alone."

"Yeah – sorry, it took a while, I know," Gilbert said sheepishly, scratching his cheek. "There's… stuff. Real life stuff. I mean, my Sims are fine, in case you were worried. Strictly confined to reality."

"You'll have to tell me what a Sims is at dinner. If you're still interested in letting me repay you," Ludwig said, and Gilbert could hear the squeaking of some sort of fabric as Ludwig moved. Leather. He was going to pretend it was the sound of a leather chair in a posh, refined office.

Gilbert nodded and then remembered that he was a fucking idiot and verbalized his agreement instead. "Yeah! I mean, yes. Dinner would be great. Just nothing too fancy? I know you're an ambassador— sorry, assistant to the – but fancy places make me get all… nervous."

It took a moment for Gilbert to register the odd noise on the other end of the phone as laughter, and when Ludwig spoke again he sounded much lighter.

"Afraid you'll break something? Forget which fork goes with salad?"

"The former more than anything," Gilbert admitted, reclining a bit in his chair, one finger twirling a lock of his hair in a release of flustered energy. "Let's just say I went on a date to a fancy place exactly once. Shards of glass ended up in her twenty dollar soup. Not the best night."

"Were emergency stitches involved?"

"Had to use her own hair and a blunted shrimp fork. The second date was worse, though, if you can believe it."

Ludwig laughed again, and Gilbert felt his cheeks grow warm. The guy had a nice laugh. Rich and deep – like it narrated nature documentaries about baritone hyenas.

Or something a little less specific and weird. Bel was rubbing off on him.

Gilbert cleared his throat and then said more normally, "Anyway, yeah. Dinner would be great. I've got this Sunday off if Saturday night is good for you."

"Saturday?"

Gilbert heard the rustling of paper.

"I should be able to do Saturday. Does nine o'clock work or is that too late?"

"That's fine. My shift ends at seven actually, so that's perfect."

"And when you say non-fancy, do you mean I should downgrade to one Michelin star or are we talking more noodles bought out of a food truck level?"

Gilbert laughed again, his face heating up once more at the light banter. God the man was barely saying anything and already he was a mess.

"Something in between, preferably. If it were a pizza it'd have, like, watercress on it or some shit, but still be recognizable as pizza."

"…Weirdly enough that helps. Thanks."

There followed more silence, and then rustling again, before Ludwig said slowly, "I know it's more of a date place, but… Mazola's?"

Gilbert blanked for a moment on the place before a little memory tugged at him. Eliza liked their food. She would get their cannolis as takeout and binge-eat them while watching TV on her days off.

His fingers tightened a little around his phone, but all he said was a confident, "That sounds good. Give me a chance to embarrass myself trying to pronounce 'mascarpone' or some shit."

"Just butcher it as much as possible. It'll give me a chance to gently correct you and feel momentarily superior," Ludwig suggested.

Gilbert let out a quiet snort of laughter, his grip on his phone relaxing slightly.

"I can already tell this is going to be fun. Try not to brag too much, okay? I'm sure you speak somewhere in the ballpark of eighty languages and can tap dance in three more."

"Five, actually, but Irish hard shoe isn't considered a formal 'tap' style dance."

"Fuck – okay, I need to hang up or we'll have nothing to talk about, you'll have bragged yourself into a corner before then," Gilbert laughed, turning over the business card in his fingers again. "Saturday at nine?"

"I'll be the asshole who gets there fifteen minutes early and makes you feel guilty for being on time. That's generally how things go with me," Ludwig warned, but Gilbert could hear the little smile in his voice.

"Sounds insufferable," Gilbert said, glancing out the window at the busy streets below. "Can't wait."

"Glad to hear it, Doctor Weillschmidt. Do take care until then."

"Sure. You too."

The line went dead.

Gilbert set his phone down on the desk, his fingers and cheeks all twitchy from smiling and the nervous little bursts of energy in his system. Fuck. Fuck this was a crush, wasn't it. On the guy who had puked his weight in vodka on his couch who would probably turn out to be a serial killer who murdered for nice suits and had stolen some ambassador's business cards and leather chair.

Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair before standing up and gathering his things to go home. Saturday. He only had two surgeries scheduled for that day, both easy. Nothing traumatizing. He wouldn't show up all panicked and depressed. Eliza didn't work on Saturdays. He wouldn't show up murderous and snippy. All good things.

His movements slowed and he let out a frustrated noise, Eliza's earlier dig returning to quietly taunt him.

He'd just be normal, spineless himself. Pale and legally blind without his glasses. With no friends and a lackluster interest in most aspects of his career.

With a quiet curse Gilbert closed his bag and headed out of his office, tugging the door shut behind him.

It didn't matter. This wasn't a date, this wasn't anything. He didn't even know if Ludwig was gay, he didn't even know if he could handle it if he were. He was getting worked up over a simple dinner with a near-stranger.

And that's why you have no friends.

Gilbert growled and swatted Eliza's voice away. She'd been teasing, and more to the point, fuck any of her opinions on the matter. Not like she was one to talk with her freak pastry eating and weird taste in what her small circle of friends deemed literature.

A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky. Gilbert made a slight detour to lost and found, stealing the most intact umbrella he could find. He stepped out into the rain, holding the broken umbrella over his head as he made a mad dash for the station.

Saturday at nine.

He'd get his mental ducks in a neat, military row by then.

Providing everyone else in the hospital just stayed the hell away from him.


	4. FOUR

Author's Notes

(~)

I was dissatisfied with chapter three because NOT ENOUGH FLUFF so I wrote this one at the same time to appease me. Me and only me. I'll return to this once I hit a frustration point with book again!

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**FOUR**

(~)

There were few places in the world as awkward as the middle urinal. Etiquette dictated that the farthest urinal be used first. Then the closest. Then the absolute middle. Anyone sorry enough to follow in next had to pick and choose their alliances carefully.

Gilbert had grown up assuming it was a gay thing. Guys were so desperate to hide their cocks from another male gaze that wasn't shoving a finger up their ass and telling them to cough in as indifferent a voice as possible. But as he grew older and realized that peeing in front of people was a vulnerable act when your blood alcohol level was resting comfortably at zero, he found himself adopting the system more and more. And getting fucking pissed off at people who broke the unspoken rules.

Like the exceptionally small prick that had just settled in directly next to him.

Gilbert kept his eyes rigidly fixed on the porcelain beauty. Sad when urine-soaked ceramics were more appealing than the human form. Well, just one human form in particular, really.

Roderich loudly cleared his throat, raising his voice to speak over the sound of five simultaneous urine streams.

"How was looking after Eliza's cats?"

Gilbert's gaze automatically shifted to stare at the man in disbelief.

"…We're pissing into fancy buckets and you're asking about my friend's cats."

"My girlfriend's cats, yes," Roderich said, his weasely voice unctuous and insincere. "She told me you're not a fan of felines."

"I'm generally not a fan of any pet I could kill by accidentally dropping a toaster on it," Gilbert muttered, giving a few shakes before zipping up. His bladder was still about half full after the three hour long surgery he'd just performed, but it had suffered acute rage performance anxiety the moment the director had appeared. He moved to wash his hands, unsurprised when Roderich quickly joined him. Pre-Eliza, Gilbert had been pretty sure Roderich was gunning to have him fired. Post-Eliza, the man had apparently realized his worth as one of Eliza's friends, and the hostile sycophanting had commenced. The guy still hated him; that much was obvious. Every time Gilbert spoke up in a meeting Roderich's nostrils would flare like a rabid horse's before he would calmly dismiss whatever Gilbert had proposed and move on. No other commentary allowed.

But on a personal level, the man was trying to worm his way in. At least enough to appease Eliza, who had probably inceptioned the seed of camaraderie in his head. Forced or otherwise.

"Eliza and I had a lovely time in Aruba," Roderich continued, apparently choosing to ignore the toaster comment. "I really can't thank you enough for being such a good friend to her at the last minute."

"No, but you can always try. I find generosity is best expressed in crisp, newer bills," Gilbert deadpanned, ripping a paper towel out of the dispenser. "The older ones make it feel like an obligation, you know?"

Roderich let out an awkward, nasally laugh. Gilbert stared at the older man, his eyes drifting (as they always did) to the mole on his chin. He bet if Roderich slacked on his upkeep the mole would grow hair. A single, long, coarse hair. A fucking face pube.

"I forget how unique your brand of humor is, Doctor Weillschmidt."

"Comes with the albinism," Gilbert muttered, adjusting his glasses as he pushed his way past Roderich. "Buy terrible vision and sun sensitivity, get a bitter, deadpan personality free."

Roderich's discomfited laughter died down, but the director followed Gilbert out into the hallway. Which was just swell.

His surgeries had gone off without a hitch. It was almost seven o'clock. He'd get to go home, shower, and then do the thing. The thing he didn't want to think about because now that the surgeries were over and it was almost seven o'clock his brain was running out of distractions and wanted nothing more than to take his anxiety out on Roderich.

The director continued to follow him down the hall, falling back into business talk since Gilbert hadn't taken the Aruba bait. Gilbert remained silent, wondering what exactly was on the other man's mind to cause him to go into daylight stalker mode. He and Roderich generally interacted as little as possible. Apart from glaring at each other over clipboards and Gilbert snarling at him when the man refused to sign his grant petitions, they went out of their way to avoid each other. They'd worked on a few cases together out of necessity, some of the more stubborn illnesses, one strange instance of tuberculosis. Other than that, however, their paths rarely crossed. Roderich remained in his office on the fifth floor or in the observation rooms above the operating rooms, perched above the gurneys like a bespectacled vulture. And Gilbert remained in his office on the second, on rounds, or in surgical scrubs. Glass separated them ninety percent of the time, kept them apart like two zoo animals that would otherwise disembowel each other the moment the keeper's back was turned.

As they rounded the corner that led to Gilbert's office, Roderich suddenly ceased talking about economizing the budget to prepare for the east wing expansion. While the silence was welcome, Gilbert couldn't stave off his curiosity. He stopped in his tracks and glanced up at the director, one eyebrow raised.

"What."

Roderich pursed his lips, his eye twitching at the aggressive tone. The way he was shuffling side to side made Gilbert think of what little kids did when they had to pee. The anxious pee dance. The dance for pee.

"It's about Elizaveta."

"Well no shit," Gilbert said in exasperation, pushing open the door to his office and stepping inside, grudgingly holding it open for Roderich. "Considering that is literally our one aspect in common outside of where we work. What about her?"

Roderich strode into the office as though it were his own and took a seat in one of the chairs, motioning for Gilbert to do the same. Gilbert felt his hackles rise at the condescending gesture, but he followed the silent order without comment, quirking an eyebrow at the older man once they were both settled.

Roderich frowned at him over his glasses.

"The language, Doctor Weillschmidt. I've told you to clean it up," he said, his voice cooling to zero Kelvin. "This is a children's hospital. There are children present."

"Unless you're vacationing in the seedier parts of Fire Island, I'm pretty sure there are children present everywhere, in my defense," Gilbert pointed out. "Although I doubt any snuck into my private office. You can dock my pay for being a filthy mouthed heathen later, Doctor Edelstein. What do you want."

Roderich's blue eyes narrowed to viciously thin slits. He stared at Gilbert in silence for a moment before visibly deflating.

"I came to ask for your permission."

Gilbert blinked, slowly, unsure if he'd heard right.

"…Come again?"

The sound of Roderich's teeth grinding could have drowned out a jackhammer.

"I said. I came to ask for your permission," the man repeated, outwardly the very picture of calm grace. "To court her."

"To court her," Gilbert repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Because this hospital lies in a time bubble where it's perpetually 1890s France."

Roderich gave him a withering look that said quite plainly that he didn't find Gilbert to be at all charming.

"Because you're her friend. And a former roommate, I imagine there's some emotions involved there," he said politely. "I wanted to make my intentions fully known. I felt contacting her parents would be a bit premature, but she seems to hold you in high regard."

Gilbert felt his throat tighten with irritation bordering on rage. The man looked so calm, so sanctimonious and complacent with his humility. That he'd deigned to ask the lowly, neurotic doctor for permission to date someone who was his ex in spirit only. And Roderich didn't even know that. As far as he was concerned they were just good friends.

Gilbert forced himself to open his mouth a bit when he realized he was clenching his jaw. It cracked painfully, but that didn't stop him from launching into his curt speech.

"You don't ask my permission to date her," he said brusquely. "'You just don't. First of all, we were never dating, and second of all that's really fucking weird. And misogynistic as hell. Third of all, even if that first thing and that second thing weren't true, isn't it a little late? Aruba's not really a place you go when you're just testing the waters."

"Aruba was a trial, of sorts. To see how we would handle one another outside routine," Roderich explained, crossing his legs and settling his hands atop his bony knee. "It went very well, I thought, and I would like to progress our relationship. She's meeting my parents tonight, and—"

"Why are you telling me this?" Gilbert interrupted, his stomach giving a sick lurch. "I'm not Cosmo, I don't give a fuck – sorry, a flying flip – about your sex life. Especially with one of my best friends. Until Eliza comes to me and tells me she's either got a ring, or it's over, I really don't care."

Roderich fell quiet, his blue eyes studying Gilbert carefully from behind his glasses. Gilbert felt like a specimen on a slide. One that was not reacting as expected.

Good.

"I'd hoped you would appreciate the gesture, at least," Roderich finally said. "I know things between us are rather rocky, but I am the director of this portion of the hospital. I've let your attitude slide for the most part because of your talent. But I hope you continue to bear in mind that your position here is a precarious one. You are still in your trial period as a surgeon."

"The constant Post-It notes on my door emblazoned with 'one wrong nick and you're canned' kind of drove the message home, but I always appreciate being reminded in person," Gilbert said, leaning back in his chair.

Roderich made a quiet noise of frustration.

"I do not understand your animosity towards me. I have been nothing but tolerant –"

"You keep undermining my projects and recommendations!" Gilbert snapped.

"Because they're terrible projects and recommendations! You nearly killed a patient!"

"If they'd actually had degenerative disc disease they'd be thanking me," Gilbert muttered, the reminder stinging. He glanced at the clock – seven fifteen – and began packing his things.

"We're not done here, Doctor Weillschmidt."

Gilbert stared at the man in disbelief.

"Not done – all you've said so far is that you're planning on boning my friend into meeting your parents and reminded me what a shitty doctor I am. To the best of my knowledge, that's the extent of your M.O. What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to understand that we're not children, Doctor Weillschmidt," Roderich snapped, standing up as well. "I understand your jealousies and have been tolerant of them for the sake of workplace peace, but—"

Gilbert felt his blood run cold. He'd thought Roderich hadn't caught on to his little obsession. He'd been very careful to lock away that part of his personality. So far only Bel had figured it out – and she was an insane outlier. Which meant—

"Eliza told you?"

Roderich had the decency to look chagrined. He coughed and straightened his tie.

"Well, yes," he said in an affectedly disinterested voice. "We'd been drinking, and she mentioned you. I wasn't surprised, of course, with how close the two of you are."

"Were," Gilbert muttered, shoving a file in his bag, white hot fury clouding his vision. Eliza had told him. Probably phrased it to sound like one of her interesting stories that always drew crowds at parties. He'd probably replaced the tale of the mango cadaver or the story of the stray dog that had stolen one of her cultures. His humiliation and emotional pain was just a part of her repertoire now because she thought humor was the way to put any interpersonal kerfuffle behind her.

But Roderich had been her test audience. And that was what rankled more than anything.

Roderich shook his head, his stupid cowlick flopping all over the place like a weird antenna.

"And this is what I feared. You are too immature to—"

"As far as I can tell, Director, the prize for immaturity falls more in your camp," Gilbert snapped, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "This is a workplace. And while I don't care about the odd passing remark about my personal life, I'd rather it stay personal. Outside the hospital. And I don't exactly relish you marching into my office like you own it—"

"Technically it isn't your office," Roderich calmly interrupted. "You share it with three other doctors."

"My name's on the fucking door!" Gilbert exploded. "Just – God." He ran his fingers through his greasy hair – when was the last time he'd showered – and stared warily at Roderich before speaking again, much more controlled.

"I'll summarize. I don't care what you do. I don't care if you and Eliza get married on a beach in Spain, I don't care if the two of you become rogue archeologists together. I don't care if you stumble into a time portal and wake up in Victorian England. Do whatever the hell you want. Just leave me out of it."

Roderich's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but he gave a small nod.

"I was merely trying to look out for you," he said politely. "As both your senior at this hospital and as someone who bears you no ill-will in particular."

"Your concern means the world, Director. Thank you for not firing me today," Gilbert muttered, heading over to the door and yanking it open. On the other side were Bel and Lian. One side of their faces was red and both were staring off into the distance, chatting casually about the newest influx of patients.

Gilbert stared at the nurses, unimpressed, but Roderich's voice made him turn around.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, Doctor Weillschmidt?"

Gilbert stared at the director and then said blandly, "Dinner," before shutting the door. Let Roderich let himself out. It would be the most work he'd done in a month.

He glared at the two nurses as he passed them, but Bel just wiggled her fingers and said sweetly, "Enjoy dinner. Let me know if dinner puts out on the first date."

Lian let out a choked snort of laughter and then murmured to Bel, "Eliza's got more riding on it, doesn't she?"

Gilbert blocked out the rest of the conversation as he stormed down the hall, his blood still boiling. He didn't care if the nurses eavesdropped. He used to do the same back when he was in medical school. Cliques were small, drama was abundant and interesting. He just wasn't used to being the center of attention when it came to it.

It was raining again outside. The umbrella that he'd stolen was crumpled up in the bottom of his bag, and in the process of yanking it out several files fell to the ground, instantly soaking up about a liter of water each. Gilbert scooped them up and tried to dry them off before he gave up and slugged his way down the water-logged street towards the station.

The conversation with Roderich had done a good job of erasing his nerves. But it had erased more than just nerves, unfortunately, and the entire ride home Gilbert was a silent, fuming mess of emotions. Roderich was introducing her to his parents. Probably showing her off like a trophy girlfriend. Beautiful, intelligent, highly-paid, charming. Gilbert had no idea what Roderich's family was like, but it didn't take much for him to conjure up images of old money wasps and men with coiffed hair who talked too much about yachting and single malt whiskey.

Gilbert leaned forward and rested his forehead against a window, not caring when the train jerked around a corner and smacked him in the head. Roderich hadn't consciously picked the thing that would irritate and upset him the most. The man didn't know him that well. He probably didn't even know he was a foster home kid. It usually didn't occur to people. They more often than not simply assumed that he was too career obsessed to talk about his family or that he was estranged from them. The whole bi thing provided good evidence for the latter; his promotion to surgeon evinced the former.

The train lurched to a stop and Gilbert stumbled out onto the platform, checking the time. The conversation with Roderich had cost him nearly forty minutes. He'd have to rush to shower and get ready. Mazola's was about forty five minutes away by train. Twenty by taxi.

Gilbert busied himself with mental arithmetic, calculating how much time he had for what as he headed to his apartment and went inside. Bag stowed, clothes shoved in the hamper, he took a quick shower and then spent ten minutes debating what to wear. When he realized he had less than seven minutes to get dressed and attempt to fix his hair he went with the black button up and red jeans option, tugging them quickly on. Garish, but his other pants were starting to smell. And sprout in places. Sentience was only a week away.

After throwing some product in his hair and failing to stab himself correctly in the eye with his contacts, he abandoned the hell-lenses and rushed out of the apartment, his glasses nearly sliding off his face and his boots unlaced. He managed to catch his train and spent the three quarters of an hour mentally prepping himself. Roderich's snide face was still floating in his vision, and it was taking every ounce of effort not to call up the head director and complain about the gross breach of personal… something. He was sure he'd be able to come up with a valid sounding complaint.

When the train reached his stop, Gilbert took his time following the flow of the weekend crowd. The restaurant was located in one of the livelier areas of downtown. Most of the pedestrians were dressed in clubbing clothes, and it took some effort to get around them. The girls crawled along at a snail's pace in their ridiculously high-heeled shoes. Gilbert checked his phone's GPS, moving carefully through the streets until he spotted the bright sign. He was five minutes late. Not bad.

He stuck his head in the restaurant and asked the maître about any tables under the name Ludwig. Before the man could answer he felt a light tap on his back. He spun around, surprised to see Ludwig standing behind him.

"Jumpy," Ludwig observed, pushing up the sleeves of his (much more casual) suit coat. No tie, thank god, which meant this wasn't a date. Which he already knew, but the semi-casual attire confirmed it.

"I thought you'd be waiting at a table," Gilbert explained, glancing up at the man. Shit. He was taller than he remembered. And his face was much nicer than Roderich's fucking stoat-inspired lineaments.

A look of disgust must have crossed his face, because Ludwig suddenly looked unsure.

"Well I put my name in, but I hate just sitting there by myself," he said hurriedly. "And I thought you wouldn't mind if I waited out here, or—"

"It's fine," Gilbert quickly interrupted, not in the mood just then to cater to any little guilt fest. He was still too much on edge. "Is the table ready?"

Ludwig hesitated, but after a bit nodded and gestured for Gilbert to follow him. Thankfully they'd been put in a corner by the window, and Gilbert sat with his back to the wall, needing the bit of mental security. Ludwig took his seat as well, flagging a waiter. He quietly ordered a beer for himself, and when the waiter glanced his way Gilbert just said, "The same," his eyes fixed on the window and the busy streets outside.

The waiter left quickly.

Gilbert could hear Ludwig fidgeting, very slightly, and he glanced at the blonde. Ludwig looked a bit nervous, which was hilarious on him. Despite the irritation still boiling under his skin, Gilbert grinned.

"What?"

Ludwig's blue eyes darted up, his cheeks coloring.

"I was just thinking, you're acting a bit… different," he said cautiously. "And I was wondering if I'd put you out, somehow."

"Put me out?" Gilbert struggled a moment with the unfamiliar phrase, but then just shrugged and shook his head. "No, it's not you," he promised. "My boss is an earwig in disguise and pissed me off right as I was leaving work. Got me a bit agitated. I tried to leave it at work, but…" He snorted and ran his fingers through his hair. Fat lot of good the gel had done. It was just as crazy fluffy as usual.

"Sorry. I'm sure beer will help me come around."

"All right."

Ludwig didn't sound entirely convinced, but the waiter brought by their drinks then, which was a nice distraction. They sipped at them in silence, Gilbert losing himself again to moodiness before Ludwig spoke up once more.

"An earwig, huh." His large fingers toyed with his beer bottle. "Where did it get its degree?"

Gilbert started at the odd question before he remembered his choice of insult. A huge grin broke out on his face and he laughed.

"God, you know how to get in my good graces quickly. Letting me rant about my shit of a boss."

"Well it's not really his fault. Evolutionarily speaking," Ludwig said, his eyes softening a bit with obvious relief.

"I'm not a fan of Darwinian-based sympathy," Gilbert warned, taking a more generous swig of beer. "And it's complicated. Small cast of characters but a rather turbid history."

"Considering I don't have all that much to bring to the table conversation-wise, I don't mind being the bigger man and letting you rant to me about complete strangers," Ludwig said, a very small smile on his face. "This is a thank you dinner, after all. You should be able to talk about whatever you want."

The slight shift in the man's expression made Gilbert realize again how model-esq the guy was. It was a nice distraction (the alcohol was already doing its part to help), and without much further preamble Gilbert launched into a blistering speech about Roderich's less than divine personality. Somewhere in between him ranting about fellowship fiascos and botched surgical operations (that would have gone _fine_ if Roderich hadn't been back-seat incisioning him), their food was ordered, arrived, and was half devoured.

"—and then had the _gall _to ask me if I wouldn't mind cosigning the decision when I'd been against it from the start!" Gilbert waved around a pizza crust for emphasis. "He's such a pathetic worm. I can't believe Eliza's interested in him – he doesn't even have a big dick! I had the displeasure of being blinded by its uncircumcised monster eye this afternoon."

He blinked when he realized the conversation had taken a very un-dinner-like turn, and with a mumbled apology he downed the rest of his third beer. So much for making a good impression.

He glanced cautiously over his beer bottle at Ludwig, expecting to see the man either half-asleep or irritable. But instead he looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed. Gilbert set his beer bottle down, clearing his throat.

"Ah… aha. So there's that. Roderich. His entire life story," he said as lightly as he could, pushing around half-gnawed crusts on his plate. "I promise I'd have been a better dinner companion if he hadn't decided to go all self-righteous on me this afternoon. Although honestly my hatred of Roderich is probably the most interesting thing about me, so. Probably would have wound up there eventually…"

Ludwig waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine. I'm a better listener than a talker, really. One of the reasons I was hired. They needed someone to kiss a lot of asses without being obvious about it."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Gilbert said awkwardly, every stupid thing he'd said over the past half hour coming back to him in a nice little rush of humiliation. Had he really complained about Roderich's nasal sneeze? That petty? "I mean they probably hired you to stand around and look good, too. What with your Adonis physique."

"Adonis?"

Ludwig snorted, but his cheeks were red again.

"I wouldn't go that far." He frowned. "Although they have been insisting I wear snugger and snugger pants. They told me it was a dress code change, but…"

Gilbert let out a loud burst of laughter that attracted several glances their way. He politely waved them off and then leaned more across the table, grinning at Ludwig.

"They probably saw the blonde hair and thought you'd make a nice malleable Ken doll," he teased. "Little did they know you drink like a racehorse and the muscles aren't just for show." He paused and then said worriedly, "They _aren't_ just for show, right? Because I agreed to this outing in the hopes of seeing you get all hopped up on alcohols again and hulking out on some unsuspecting pedestrian."

"Not just for show," Ludwig promised, patting his bicep. "Special forces. Before I got into politics."

"You're some conservative's wet dream, I hope you know that," Gilbert said seriously.

"I'd hate to have to settle for just 'some.' Think there's a way I could get on all their lists?"

"Abortion clinic protests might do it," Gilbert said, grabbing another slice of pizza and nibbling at it as their waiter came by. "Or starring in a maudlin commercial about how gay marriage will murder babies."

Ludwig shook his head, handing the waiter his credit card. "I'd prefer something that doesn't require I change my moral stance," he said absently. "And I'm fairly sure my ex would be rather pissed if he saw me indirectly protesting his engagement considering it's all of a week old. Still an infant."

He seemed to realize what he'd said and then quickly stammered, "S-Sorry, I don't… usually reveal that kind of stuff –" He averted his eyes, folding his hands atop the table. It was a politician's stance. Heavily guarded and unreadable.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully on his pizza. Well. That was interesting.

He was just going to ignore the happy jumping in his stomach.

"Gay or bi?"

Ludwig's bright blue eyes flicked across the table to scrutinize him for a moment before he said evenly, "My record would point towards gay."

"Gotcha. And Honda is…?"

"A friend," Ludwig said stiffly. "Not my ex, if that's what you're asking."

"That's exactly what I'm asking." Gilbert grinned and tapped his nose. "Wanted to know if you were actually trying to sneak into my apartment for a drunken booty call."

"What – god, no," Ludwig said weakly, his stiff posturing caving in somewhat. "I've only had two and neither are even in the country any longer. Two ex-boyfriends, not two… two bootycalls…"

"You're that shitty of a boyfriend, huh? Just changing counties wasn't enough, they had to flee the country?" Gilbert said sympathetically.

"They're both politicians, if you must know. Or related to the field," Ludwig said, signing the check that had been dropped off at the table. "And both are ancient history by now. Although we still keep in touch." He busied himself with putting his credit card back in his wallet, his face red. "Sorry. In my line of work it isn't… prudent to talk about these sorts of things. I'm not especially comfortable with it."

Gilbert took advantage of the distraction to steal Ludwig's partially finished beer, downing it. He'd reached the lovely stage of drinking where his lips were just a bit tingly and words came a bit easier and without self-loathing tags stuck to them. He licked his lips and shrugged, and then said lightly, "It's fine by me. I'm half gay on my father's side, so I can understand where you're coming from. Although, er, my physical record is more… vaginas. Exclusively, actually."

"Oh. I see."

Ludwig gave up trying to fit his card in its proper place and just shoved it in with the bills in his wallet. He took a sip of water, and Gilbert was amused to see his hand shaking. He lightly kicked the blonde under the table.

"Buddy. Relax," he said soothingly ."I'm not going to run out and tell the press that you love the cock. I don't think they'd care even if I did."

"If you phrased it like that someone might take umbrage," Ludwig mumbled, but his tense shoulders did loosen a bit. He stood up and Gilbert followed suit.

"Well," Ludwig began haltingly. "This was. Different than I was expecting."

Different.

Gilbert felt himself grow anxious, even under the beer blanket.

"Different… bad?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side. "I know – I talk a lot. It's my disease."

"Not bad different," Ludwig said, his voice surprisingly reassuring. "I—I don't know what I expected, actually." His lips quirked up in a very slight smile. "The red pants were a surprise, though."

"They're clean," Gilbert said solemnly, heading towards the door. "That should win your gratitude, not your scorn. And I didn't show up in my scrubs – which by the way, do you know why scrubs are green?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Ludwig said in mild amusement, following after Gilbert. "Why are scrubs green."

"It's so your red receptors don't get oversaturated. It helps you see blood better," Gilbert explained, shivering as they stepped out into the cold night air. "Isn't that interesting? Fucking shame though – green looks god awful on me. I don't have a speck of it in my actual wardrobe. Makes me look like I'm a piece of Wonder bread that's gone moldy."

From behind him came an odd snirking noise, and Gilbert turned to stare curiously over his shoulder. Ludwig's face was slightly red again, but it was obvious that this time it was from holding back laughter, not embarrassment. Gilbert scowled slightly and prodded the man in the arm.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Ludwig chuckled quietly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Just – that's more how I expected dinner to go. With how bizarre you were the first time I met you. And I don't mean your appearance—" he added hastily. "I mean, I've never met an albino before, but it's not… your weirdness is innate. Inside. God this is just getting worse the longer I talk, isn't it."

"Albinism," Gilbert corrected automatically, still staring at Ludwig. "Only time it's okay to use albino is if you're referring specifically to that one character in the Princess Bride."

"Ah… sorry," Ludwig said, subdued. "I've… I've never met a person with albinism before. I wasn't sure…"

"National meetings are on Thursday." Gilbert worried at his lip for a moment and then smiled. Ludwig had apologized. He was flustered and his ears were red with the night chill and he looked so nervous for such a big guy. Like a giant teddy bear.

"Thank you, by the way," he said suddenly, tugging on Ludwig's sleeve. "For dinner. I was so incensed honestly I didn't taste it all that much, but I'm sure it was really good." He fumbled for a moment and then said awkwardly, "And thanks for… letting me know a bit about you, I guess. Spent several hours with you and up until the last minute I couldn't have said anything more about you than your profession and your name. And your telephone number which I accidentally memorized so it's not a creepy thing. I promise."

"The pizza was mediocre. I know better places but… you said medium fancy," Ludwig said quietly, his hands in his pockets and a very small smile on his face. "But you're welcome. And thank you for not… thank you." He let out a little breath. "To be honest that was my first time being so candid with someone. And it feels…"

"…Awful?" Gilbert supplied. "Like you want to go back in time and punch yourself before you can say anything."

"Yes, that's the one," Ludwig said dryly. "Is there a name for that?"

"Medically, no," Gilbert said, feeling himself start to smile like a complete idiot. "Socially, I think it's just called having a conversation with someone you don't know very well. But for some reason everyone wants to pretend that their regret-itis is a special condition unique to them."

"I thought you said it didn't have a medical name," Ludwig challenged, raising an eyebrow. "What's this 'regret-itis'?"

Gilbert cursed and clamped a hand over his mouth before glaring up at Ludwig.

"You heard nothing. There are some secrets civilians just aren't ready for."

"Technically I'm still not a civilian," Ludwig said, taking a tiny step closer to Gilbert. "I think I can be trusted with our nation's medical secrets."

"Nu-uh," Gilbert swore, drawing an 'x' over his lips. "I'm not ready to go down for this. Not over a stupid fucking joke."

Ludwig laughed at that, the noise relaxed and lighthearted. Gilbert found himself grinning as well and was about to give in and make up some bullshit illness when Ludwig suddenly spoke again.

"Do you want to get coffee? I – there's. Coffee, somewhere. At a store or at my apartment. It exists, I'm sure. And since I'm worried you might feel cheated conversation-wise we could fix that. Maybe."

Gilbert started in surprise and then said slowly, "Is this an existential discussion about whether coffee exists or an actual invitation? Either way, I uh. I'd..."

Fuck… was this really a good idea? It wasn't a date and drinking coffee at eleven thirty at night was a fuck-all stupid idea. Which is why when people usually said 'getting coffee' they meant more of the stereotypical sitcom kind of coffee. Everyone knew that, even blushy gargantuan ambassadors.

But tipsy Gilbert's brain pointed out that if he went home in his current state he'd freak out about all the stupid shit he said about dinner for five minutes and then spent the rest of the evening torturing himself over what Roderich and Eliza were up to.

Distractions were good. Even caffeine at nearly midnight.

Gilbert's smile relaxed and he wrinkled his nose.

"I'd enjoy speculating about the existence of coffee with you for a bit longer, sure," he said casually, clasping his hands behind his head. "So do we Apparate there or are you hooked up to the Floo network?"

When all he received was a blank look, Gilbert sighed, shook his head, and said, "This is going to be a painful coffee. Half my speech is made up of pop-culture references and movie quotes."

"I'll just spent the entire time Googling every other word. We'll get through this," Ludwig solemnly promised, pulling out his cell phone. While he dialed, Gilbert glanced up at the buildings around them, his tipsy mind finding enjoyment in the way the lines all converged together at the top.

There came a tap on his shoulder, and he glanced over at Ludwig who was standing next to a large, black car that had appeared out of nowhere. Gilbert stared at it, not sure what was happening, and after a moment Ludwig rolled his eyes and gently tugged on his arm.

"It's just a town car, Doctor. I'm sure you've seen plenty in your day."

"I'm more acquainted with its less stable brother public transport, actually," Gilbert said weakly, sliding into the car and bouncing a bit on the leather seats. Ludwig got in behind him, closed the door, and they were off.

Gilbert leaned back against the seat, trying to fight back his sudden wave of nervousness. Why had he done this again? It was so unlike him. He tried to pretend like he was spontaneous but as his bookshelf of meticulously organized tomes would attest to, spontaneity wasn't in his blood.

He twisted his fingers in his shirt, half-seriously considering telling Ludwig to pull over, he wanted out, when a gentle touch to his arm made him look up. Ludwig was staring at him worriedly, his blue eyes wide and a few strands of slicked-back blonde hair falling over his forehead.

"Are you going to be sick?" he asked quietly. "I can have the driver pull over."

Something unwound in Gilbert's chest at the gentle tone. He shook his head, snuggling deeper into the comfortable seat.

"Nope," he said cheerfully, closing his eyes. "Everything's still pleasant and floaty. Stage one inebriation only."

"Glad to hear it," Ludwig said, his voice amused again.

Gilbert kept his eyes closed as they drove, the gentle hum of the car nearly soothing him into sleep, the warm body beside him assisting. Thoughts of Eliza and Roderich would float to the surface every once in a while, but almost as though he could sense them, Ludwig would quietly speak up, asking him a question or clarifying a point he'd made earlier in the evening.

By the time the town car pulled to a stop, Gilbert would have been hard pressed to even say who Eliza and Roderich were.

And for the time being ,as Ludwig offered him a hand out of the car, he was more than content for the two of them to stay gone.


	5. FIVE

Author's Notes

(~)

Sorry this took so long to get out. I've been in a horrible writing slump lately, so this chapter is all fluff. Important fluff, but still. Like the pure cotton of the fic. I really shouldn't write my notes at one in the morning.

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**FIVE**

(~)

Gilbert was wholly unsurprised (and still partially influenced by drink) when he saw just where the town car had stopped. A town house, of course. To continue the theme. Old and classy as fuck. Lovely flower boxes too. Peonies or something. Mums. Were mums a thing other than English maternal units.

Gilbert only realized he'd been spacing out when he felt a light tug on his arm. He glanced up at Ludwig who seemed amused. He was grinning like an idiot in any case, which Gilbert felt meant that he was doing something right. Probably being very charming. Thinking about classy things like flowers and British mothers.

"I know. I'm adorable when I'm tipsy," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "Can't resist, can you Mr. Ambassador?"

"You're about to topple over and get your adorable brains all over the sidewalk is what you are," Ludwig said, patting Gilbert on the back. "Alcohol or tired?"

"Three parts tired, one part whatever that last drink was," Gilbert said absently, following Ludwig up the steps (carefully) to the townhouse door. "I did three surgeries today. That's one more than two."

"And elementary level math is clearly one of your fortes, in addition to cutting up people without them dying," Ludwig said pleasantly, unlocking the door.

"But two is usually my limit," Gilbert supplied, "That's why it's special."

He tiptoed after Ludwig as the man entered the town house. Once inside Gilbert stood still. It was dark and he was slightly drunk. Very bad combination for not bumping shins. He could hear Ludwig rustling around and a moment later a light came on, revealing a charming hallway. Lots of dark wood paneling, tile floor. All that.

Gilbert noticed the neat rows of shoes by the door and immediately dropped to his butt to tug his own off. He heard Ludwig laugh and say wryly, "I was just about to tell you, you didn't have to bother. The maid's coming tomorrow."

"You have a maid," Gilbert said in awe, setting his shoes aside before pushing himself to his shaky feet. "That's what rich people have."

"It's what people who have rich friends have too," Ludwig said, heading down the hallway. Gilbert padded after him, absently noting the lack of photographs and things.

"Did you just move here?"

"Hm? No. I hardly stay here more than a few months at a time, though, with the traveling," Ludwig replied, turning into a small but beautiful kitchen. Granite countertops. Fuck.

Gilbert plunked himself down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watching Ludwig putter around getting the coffee going. He propped up his elbows on the nearby island counter, a huge grin on his face.

"So you really do intend to ply me with caffeine. You're a brave one."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

"Is there something I should know?"

"People I went to med school with cringe when they see me carrying a paper cup, that's all I'm saying," Gilbert laughed, his head still pleasantly floaty. Ludwig hummed in response, clicking a switch on his fancy coffee maker before he moved to the table as well. He took a seat across from Gilbert and folded his hands, resting them atop the walnut surface.

"…And this is the awkward part," he said, his blue eyes focused on a point just over Gilbert's shoulder. "Before beverages can be used as conversational levies."

"You can tell me more about your bitching house," Gilbert said enthusiastically, turning around in his chair to face Ludwig. "I don't know anyone with a house. And I know rich doctors and things but most of them are like me and still paying off medical school expenses."

"Bitching – well it's old, if that's what you're getting at," Ludwig said, bemused. "The ambassador had this as one of his properties but the upkeep got to be too much. He knows I'm something of a factotum and asked if I wanted to live here and act as a landlord in return for him charging me incredibly little." He let out a little breath. "So I get to live in this enormous place all by myself. And the maid won't let me fire her." He clicked his tongue in irritation and Gilbert burst out laughing.

"Won't let you – why the fuck would you want to get rid of a maid? Send her to my place, then. God knows I could use a bit of help."

"Based on the complete absence of lint on your clothes when you showed up to dinner I doubt you actually need much assistance," Ludwig said, a very small smile on his face. His expression quickly darkened. "…She doesn't dust in the corners properly. This place is nothing but wainscoting – if one section goes, the whole room goes."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and studied Ludwig's serious face for a moment before he grinned and reached out to tap Ludwig's nose.

"Can I get you to say 'wainscoting' again? The timbre of your voice is like crushed velvet or sweet ass bear fur."

"Wainscoting?" Ludwig slowly repeated, which made Gilbert burst into laughter once more. Ludwig politely let him finish hacking up a lung when the laughter got out of control, but then he said dryly, "I wasn't aware I had bear fur voice. Nor that I'm a comedian, or is that the alcohol talking."

"No you're really fucking funny," Gilbert insisted, immediately springing to Ludwig's defense. "Which is one of the reasons I was so jazzed you called me. I mean hot, rich, savory – that's soup, fuck me, uh. Charming!" He snapped his fingers, his cheeks flushed from excitement and drink. "You're charming! You're like one of those Disney princes! Even have the castle!"

"Castle?" Ludwig repeated, glancing around the admittedly compact kitchen. There was a small smile on his face as his gaze rested on Gilbert again. He seemed pleased even as he snorted and said, "I would hardly call myself charming. You came late so you missed me yelling at the wait staff. We were supposed to have the chef's table because I'm, as an ex put it, a stuck up cretin."

"I'm sure it was a very manly and vigorous roar of justice," Gilbert said dismissively, his eyes tracking Ludwig's movements as the other man stood and went to finish making the coffee.

"Roar of justice… oh no. Are you not buying my mild mannered alter-ego?" Ludwig's amused voice drifted up from the other side of the kitchen. "Should I ramp up the passive incompetence?"

Gilbert grinned and propped his chin up on the counter again.

"It's convincing enough. Missing glasses, though. Every mild mannered alter ego has glasses. Union rules," he said, scrunching his nose when a hot cup of coffee slid across the counter towards him. He picked it up and stared expectantly at Ludwig. The other man looked confused for a moment and then slowly guessed, "You want… sugar?" At Gilbert's scowl he quickly amended, "Milk? Cream?" He chuckled when Gilbert wiggled his cup. He turned to the fridge, returning with a bottle of milk. He set it down on the table with a little smile, his blue eyes crinkling around the corners.

"Use your words. I'm sure working with a bunch of kids has stripped you of your higher language functions but I'd accept even a grunt."

"God you're mean. What part of you is mild, exactly," Gilbert complained, dumping some of the milk in his coffee before glancing up at Ludwig, another cleverer retort on the tip of his tongue. It stuttered and died when he actually met the other man's eyes. Ludwig was obviously trying not to stare, but the way his glance was darting back and forth from his cup of coffee to Gilbert's face was hard to miss. Gilbert felt his cheeks go red.

"W-What?"

"What?" Ludwig practically jumped and narrowly avoided sloshing hot coffee on his hands. He cursed and quickly set down his cup, averting his eyes. Gilbert bit his lip when he saw how red Ludwig's ears were, and he was sober enough to put two and two together fairly quickly.

Arithmetic.

Before he could speak, however, Ludwig straightened up and said, "I have a roof." He winced and Gilbert had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Suitably flustered, Ludwig tried again.

"I – there's. It's a flat roof," he mumbled. "And sometimes it's nice to sit there and… and there's. Sky. And I'm pretty sure we still have a moon—"

"Ludwig," Gilbert interrupted, unable to handle much fumbling. "Do I need to bust out my second grade science book and show you the section on our solar system or do you want me to come up onto the roof with you?"

"See, you can be forward and funny because you're drunk," Ludwig complained. "I don't have that kind of luxury."

"I'm _barely_ tipsy anymore," Gilbert pointed out, quickly standing up, his heart pounding quickly. Roof. That was normally a spot reserved for sitcoms and dramas. He didn't know anyone in the city that had rooftop access, but of course this beautiful charismatic asshole would.

"You're still wobbling," Ludwig pointed out, heading towards the stairs that started in the entry way. "That says tipsy to me."

"Oh, I didn't know there was another doctor here," Gilbert said in astonishment, cradling his coffee against his chest as he walked. "I can't believe I haven't seen you at any conferences. And for your information, doctor, putting seven teaspoons of sugar into one mug of coffee is a recipe for diabetes. I'm sure your advanced age made you forget."

"It wasn't seven – God, you saw that?" Ludwig groaned, a quiet laugh in his voice. "Fuck. There goes my image. From taciturn badass to sweet toothed simpleton in seven easy teaspoons."

He paused at the top of the steps, holding out a hand for Gilbert to take for the last few. Gilbert accepted it readily enough, but there was a mystified smile on his face.

"Were those last two steps extra treacherous or something?" he asked.

Ludwig shook his head and then said solemnly, "No. I just didn't want you to fall backwards from shock when I tell you that I." He let out a little breath. "…I hate coffee."

Gilbert stared at the full mug in Ludwig's hands and then glanced back up at the man, confused for a moment before understanding dawned. A warm, happy peach pit of a feeling settled in his stomach, resting comfortably amongst his organs.

"So. This is all just… pretext?" he asked carefully. "Not even thinly veiled?"

Ludwig nodded and took another sip of his drink as he walked down a hall. His grimace traveled all the way to his broad shoulders.

"This is the second most I've suffered just to keep a conversation going," he said, pushing open a door that led to another, narrower, staircase. "I'm glad you're appreciative of my efforts."

"Second most?" Gilbert inquired, following after Ludwig. He had to cling to the handrail, and halfway up stopped to chug his coffee. He didn't want to risk spillage and he had a feeling he'd be a bit occupied in a few moments. Unless he was reading the signs wrong.

His record would point towards yes, but he was currently in a state of vicious denial.

"My first boyfriend was laconic to a degree that would have normally barred function in modern society," Ludwig deadpanned. "He made me look garrulous by comparison. The only time he spoke up was when he and I both had a whiskey in our hands. That was suffering. Dark alcohols and I don't mesh well."

"Garrulous—oh my god, a doctor _and _a lexicographer. What are the odds!" Gilbert teased, laughing when Ludwig visibly tensed. He sensed an apology coming and quickly said, "Don't! Don't. I like knowing that you're well-read. Doesn't help much with the inferiority complex, but…"

Ludwig didn't respond, and remained silent the rest of the way up the steps. He opened the door at the top before stepping out onto the roof. Gilbert followed him a moment later and stood still long enough for his eyes to adjust. The roof wasn't all that large; a brick structure took up half, which probably housed some heating and cooling equipment or something, but the other half had a very small garden and several lawn chairs. Ludwig took a moment to brush them off with a broom that was resting against the brick section before motioning for Gilbert to sit, taking his own seat.

Gilbert carefully lowered himself into the wicker chair. The sky above was resplendent with light pollution. Only the moon and a few of the brighter stars were visible. Taller buildings on the city's edge jutted up against the horizon, glowing fangs rending the sickly navy sky. Pinpricks of light in office windows usurped the constellations, but when Gilbert took off his glasses each one warped into a bursting star. Florescent fusion bombs.

"…Holy shit," Gilbert said quietly, his motivations momentarily forgotten.

"Similar sentiments. Even though I'm jaded to it now," Ludwig said, propping his elbows on his knees. "I grew up in the country so this used to drive me absolutely crazy, not being able to see the real stars."

Gilbert managed to tug his eyes away from the scenery and slipped his glasses back on, glancing at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. The other man had a pensive look on his face. If Gilbert knew him better he'd be able to place it exactly, but even with only a few interaction under his belt Ludwig was easy enough to read in terms of generalities.

Gilbert lightly nudged him in the thigh with his elbow.

"What."

Ludwig's lips pulled down in a frown before, finally, he sighed.

"I don't know you nearly well enough to delve into your psyche."

Gilbert's eyebrow crept towards his hairline.

"…It bothers me that this is how you introduce our next topic of conversation."

"It's nothing bad," Ludwig said reassuringly. "It's just – tonight, whenever you were talking about your work… the word 'inferior' came up. An awful lot."

Gilbert jerked away at that, surprised.

"It did?"

And Ludwig had somehow noticed this over the course of a two hour dinner?

Ludwig nodded slowly and folded his large hands in his lap.

"…You don't seem to have a very high opinion of yourself," he said quietly. "And I know, even if this were a date – or I guess especially if it were one – that would really be me overstepping my boundaries to point out. And I'm sorry I did, but I don't. Get it. And I really hate when I don't understand things or can't piece things together. My mother buys me puzzles as gifts just to watch me lose my cool and try and shiv our Christmas tree with little cardboard pieces out of frustration and – and God I'm talking a lot. Sorry."

Gilbert pursed his lips, torn between irritation and embarrassment. He hadn't noticed he was being self-deprecating, but sometimes things like that took an outside perspective to notice…

"…What don't you get, exactly? I'd rather not see you go nuts murdering shrubbery. Too early in the season for that."

Ludwig shrugged and looked away.

"…You're a surgeon," he said, his voice slightly muffled. "And it's obvious from how you talk about your interaction with most of your coworkers that they like you. Your friend Eliza sounds like she's being a bit vindictive and your rancor towards that Roderich person makes it hard to judge, but you seem… popular." He rubbed at his wrists and then mumbled, "And you're. You have to know you're attractive. You showed up to a fairly fancy restaurant in biker boots and everyone was too busy ogling you to say anything or be rude about it."

"O-Ogling?" Gilbert said weakly, his heart stuttering in his chest. "…They were? Are you sure it's not because of the whole albinism thing? And they weren't biker boots, I don't even know what those are. Probably got. Skulls and shit on them."

"It wasn't the whole albinism thing. Trust me," Ludwig deadpanned, and Gilbert's piranha of a mind latched onto the annoyance that colored Ludwig's tone.

No fucking way.

He peered across the slight gap that separated them, his eyes wide. A little grin stole across his face, and it was probably the burst of caffeine mixing horribly with whatever beer was left in his system that made him lean over and lightly poke Ludwig's arm.

"That possessive over a thank you dinner?" he teased. "That's a little presumptuous of you."

Ludwig hunched in on himself a bit and shied away from Gilbert. "It's not that," he muttered. "It was more – they kept. They were being really obnoxious and obvious about it. And I was worried you'd notice and feel self-conscious and not have as good of a time as you could. That's… that's it. I promise." He lifted his head slightly and glanced at Gilbert.

"I'm not – weird," he said weakly. "I promise. It was just…" He fumbled for words for a moment and then elected for taciturn silence. Gilbert waited as patiently as he could but curiosity and excitement were eating him alive. He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up all over this near-stranger's roof like a kid on a god-damn tilt-a-whirl .

He reached out to lightly tug on Ludwig's arm, and when the other man turned to face him again he said earnestly, "I don't think you're weird. Or, well." He cleared his throat. "You are. But it's a good kind! Trust me, I wouldn't have voluntarily come to this crazy isolated place with a near stranger if I thought you were the sort of weird that would cut off my head and keep it in your freezer as a trophy. But you're not." He paused. "…there's a ninety nine percent chance you're not."

Ludwig laughed weakly and offered Gilbert a tiny smile.

"It's the hair, isn't it?" he said. "My coworkers tell me that I look like a villain from a period drama."

"It does scream 40s gangster, yeah," Gilbert laughed, relaxing again. He lightly punched Ludwig's arm. "And why are you so stuttery? This is supposed to be fun, right? Relax. Breathe. If I end up being a murderer you can push me off the roof. Easy enough accident to explain away. And if you turn out to be a psychopathic killer, well." He grinned. "Track star in high school. I'm sure I can outrun a man with five pounds of sugar water in his stomach."

"Somehow I have trouble picturing you running farther than the distance to the fridge," Ludwig said, leaning back in his chair to dodge a punch from Gilbert. He raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face. "And this is fun, don't worry. It's just… not the sort of fun I'm used to."

"How so?" Gilbert asked, giving up on his retaliation for the moment.

The blonde hummed, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

"I mostly hang around politicians," he finally said. "They're. Dry. To put it lightly. And most of them are a good deal older than me – oh!" He pressed a hand against his face and groaned quietly. "I don't even know how old you are."

"Thirty in a few weeks," Gilbert supplied, raising an eyebrow. "You?"

"Same in four months or so," Ludwig said relaxing. "Thank god. With the white hair it's really hard to tell."

He laughed when Gilbert swiped at him again, and the ease of the noise made Gilbert's stomach clench. "Shut up," he muttered, feeling himself blush. The misanthropic part of his brain was hissing that he shouldn't be this relaxed around a complete stranger; he should find it more difficult to open up because that's what not-dead or not-in-horrible-relationships people did. They were chary, cautious, and that tended to help avoid revealing too much too fast like a teenage girl with a brand new Facebook account.

But Ludwig was very weird. And Gilbert wasn't sure if it was the man himself or the way he was building him up in his mind that was the cause for the weirdness. And as he sat there falling into a brood of drunken owl thoughts he found he didn't mind. The risk was worth it. The lack of investment helped – they had mere hours of relationship to stand on and if Ludwig found his distaste for pickles a deal breaker there wasn't a lot to lose, which was a huge relief. Enough to make Gilbert relax and drunk punch his eremitic side to the curb.

He must have been silent for a while, because when Ludwig hesitantly ventured, "Sorry, low blow?"

Gilbert nearly jumped.

"What?"

Ludwig gave him an inscrutable look before saying, "Usually guys that look like you are fragile when it comes to their appearance, but twenty seconds of silence is a bit much to mourn your ego…"

That made Gilbert bristle a bit, nervous flutterings shoved into a pool of carbonite.

"That look like me?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "How many people do you know that look like me?"

Ludwig stared at him, perplexed, before his blue eyes widened and he stammered, "N-Not the albino – albinism thing! I meant attractive people!" He gestured hopelessly. "I was a nerd in high school – I only ever watched guys like you from afar." He winced. "…Like a perverted stalker. I'm not really helping my case here am I. Although I guess you probably get why I'm so. Flaky. Right now." He ran his fingers through his hair, the gel breaking apart easily.

"My boyfriends always said I had self esteem. Whatever. Issues," he muttered, "And that I put them up on pedestals. I guess it's a habit of mine to do that with guys I find attractive, so. Sorry for. Pedastaling you after only a few hours. I honest to God tried to play it cool for as long as possible but my chess club president side can stay dormant only so long before it starts trying to sabotage me."

Gilbert's whole face slowly turned to magma. He had to look away, thanking God that it was dark enough that even his obvious blush would be hidden.

He fiddled with his empty coffee cup and then said as lightly as he could, "I don't really mind being pedastaled. Er. Put. Up on one." His lips twitched up in a smile. "It's been a really long time since someone pedastaled me. Not since high school, I think. And I mean it's different being pedastaled by people you think aren't all that great or who are just sucking up to you but when it's someone interesting that's pedastaling –"

He stopped and cringed.

"Nope. Hating that word, starting over."

Ludwig laughed and shook his head.

"It was doomed from the start. I failed Rhetoric 101."

"The class that they make all the losers take?! You _failed_ that?!" Gilbert laughed, kicking lightly at Ludwig's chair. "Well that explains a hell of a lot! Too busy oogling the hot guys to bother learning how to write. Did you think cavemen speech would impress them?"

"Well it worked for a while," Ludwig protested. "After school when I started working out all I really had to do was flex and then – and then here's where you make a gay sauna joke."

Gilbert groaned and stuck out his tongue before laughing again, his eyes crinkling shut.

"That would be a cheap shot even for me," he teased. "You may not know this, considering we're three hours into our relationship, but I have an alarmingly high moral compass. It's why I usually dress so slovenly outside of work. I'm like one of those Buddhist ascetics that wanders up into a mountain and isn't heard of for five years until he stumbles back down into civilization with a gang of adopted otters nesting in his hair."

There was a quiet squeak of wicker as Ludwig's weight shifted. The lights of the city blacked out, and then came the millisecond of realization. Of remembering tens of episodes of the crappy sitcoms Eliza used to make him watch and that he used to pretend to hate. Of rooftops and coffee after eleven at night.

Gilbert's eyes widened against the black.

"Oh fuck," he whispered, and then Ludwig's lips pressed against his.

It was hardly long enough to be called a kiss.

By the time Gilbert registered the sensation Ludwig had backpedaled, his face ashen.

"G-God… fuck, I'm so sorry," he said in a rush, nearly falling over the chair as he retreated, his cheeks red and his eyes nearly bulging out of his head like a chameleon's. "Fuck this was a mistake – I'm sorry, Gilbert, I really – I didn't plan. I. I always plan these things except of course now after we just got done having a conversation about how I was a stalker in high school and am now moonlighting as a serial killer with heads in freezers."

Gilbert blinked slowly, his lips still tingling from the touch. He licked them instinctively to get them to stop and watched Ludwig pace around his self-imposed meter-by-meter cage of concrete flooring. The man was babbling something and kept casting guilty, terrified glances his way. He was flustered, talking as though his head were made of kerosene and his lips were matchbook strikers. Every word an aborted stutter. And Gilbert's brain was a jumble of poetic nonsense that made him want to lobotomize himself.

And that kiss was way too short.

Gilbert pushed himself up and crossed the few feet of space that separated them. He grabbed Ludwig's sleeve, scared that if he touched the man directly Ludwig would start like a frightened deer and go bounding over the edge of the roof.

"Sit."

Ludwig blinked.

"I—what."

Gilbert jerked his head towards the chair. Ludwig followed the motion and carefully sat down like a kid in Catholic school with a black and white ruler on its way.

Gilbert shifted to sit down as well, straddling the chair. He rested his hand on Ludwig's chest and lifted his gaze to meet Ludwig's. The blonde still looked terrified, his blue eyes wide and desperately seeking a way out. Not out of fear for himself, but of the situation. Unfamiliar territory.

Gilbert could feel his heart beating.

It was so fucking bizarre. He could reach underneath Ludwig's shirt and take his heart in his hands and squish it between his fingers it was that close. Play-Doh like. Temple of Doom.

Astonishingly lovely how frail it felt.

He fisted his hands in Ludwig's ridiculous, gel-crunchy hair, and mumbled, "I taste like coffee, don't throw up," before crushing his lips against the blonde's.

The sickly sweetness of Ludwig's bastardized coffee was the first thing to hit him. It pooled in the little hollow of his tongue, spilling down his throat every time Ludwig's tongue grazed against his. He heard noises of protest through the heat – Ludwig's soft whines – and he shushed them with a gentle yank of Ludwig's hair. It earned him a heady groan, and then Ludwig's hands were on his hips, his clumsy, thick fingers digging painfully against the bones.

It wasn't even a date.

The giddy thought flashed across Gilbert's mind, and he laughed against Ludwig's lips. The other man pulled away, his breathing fragile. Gilbert heard a question forming and before the moment could be broken to unease and self-condemnation he pressed his lips against Ludwig's again.

This time there was no hesitation. Ludwig's tongue laved against his lips, insisting on each new movement rather than extending a formal invitation. The velvety muscle ran over his teeth, his tongue. Ludwig's hands moved to the small of his back, the slight swell of his ass. It took all Gilbert had to match Ludwig, his knees wobbling like he'd just looked down from the top of a skyscraper.

A primitive nerve struck a flint in his stomach as his chest brushed Ludwig's. God it was so flat. So weird to have nothing else there to hold on to. There was just a slight curve of the pectoral, heart sprinting underneath.

Ludwig's fingers tightened like a vice against his skin, and Gilbert felt him moan. It was enough to make him forget that he'd never done this before while sober enough to build a memory of the event. With Eliza it had taken years. Prep squad speeches in front of the mirror, wiping sweaty hands against the sofa. Painful clearings of his throat. It had been the hardest thing in his life to close that gap, and the knife in his stomach twisted deep when she'd laughed.

Ludwig, he noted as he broke the kiss, licking his lips to break a string of saliva.

Ludwig wasn't laughing.

He stared down at the other man, chest pressing against Ludwig's with every rise as he caught his breath. Ludwig's eyes were animalistic black, hyper trained on every movement. Gilbert cautiously raised a hand, pressing it against Ludwig's cheek. When Ludwig leaned into the touch, Gilbert made a pathetic warbling noise, unsure how to handle such a saccharine exchange. Ludwig's face was so close and his gaze was intense, curious, and all Gilbert could do was mumble, "I'm breathing on you. But I don't know how to remedy that."

"Don't worry about it," Ludwig said quietly. "Your tongue was just in my mouth. I think we're past the point of halitosis concerns."

Gilbert gave a feeble excuse for a laugh and slowly lowered himself down until he was sitting on Ludwig's thighs. His intestines were still little kabobs of lust, and with a jolt of embarrassment he realized the outward guise of his dumbass metaphor.

"Oh fuck," he whimpered, pulling away from Ludwig just enough so the man hopefully wouldn't notice. He didn't get very far. Ludwig's hands were still on his ass, his fingers had to be getting crushed but he didn't seem to care.

Instead he made a quiet noise, and all but begged.

"Don't. Please."

Gilbert gave up trying to retreat, his face hot with embarrassment when Ludwig shifted and felt him. Had to feel him, he couldn't exactly hide.

Gilbert ducked his head, ready to blurt out a teenaged level apology when something soft nuzzled his ear. A moment later Ludwig's voice made the drum in his head beat louder.

"Downstairs?"

The single word was enough to make Gilbert's entire body tremble. He gave a quick nod and stood automatically, his fingers still fisted in Ludwig's shirt.

He cleared his throat.

"Polite of you to not mention the whole boner situation. Bit awkward after point two seconds of making out."

"I figured it would either be directly addressed very soon or you'd be in a taxi in two minutes," Ludwig said, standing up as well. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixed on Gilbert's face. There was zero trace of the flustered man from before in his expression, and Gilbert was bitterly reminded how unfair life was when doling out personality quirks. But then Ludwig smirked and leaned down to murmur in his ear, "Do I need to call a taxi?" as his thumb subtly brushed over his thigh. Gilbert let out a bastard swear, his stomach rolling like the sea in a Hemmingway novel. He immediately twisted the hands on his moral compass until they surrendered.

"No taxi."

He thudded down the wooden stairs, hastily undoing the top few buttons on his shirt because holy shit what was the point in even pretending to be coy anymore, Ludwig had felt his goddamn cock through his pants. That was the end of any hope for doing this with Disney-level tact or dignity, and Gilbert found himself hard-pressed to care. The amiable laughter that propelled him forward carved a deep scratch in the record Eliza had left behind. He placed the marred thing in a corner for later appraisal, and then unceremoniously shut the door.

Fuck it.

He deserved nicer laughter anyway.


	6. SIX

Author's Notes

(~)

For those of you who thought this was going to be a direct continuation, all I can say is

Have you read any of my stuff. You should have known that was a pipe dream (I'm too much of a weenie to write anything above pg-13 orz).

Enjoy.

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**SIX**

(~)

There was one thread out of place in the pillowcase stitching.

Gilbert had caught Ludwig looking at it right in the middle of things. He'd nearly lost it laughing, the man looked so perturbed by a single thread. He'd asked, praying to god that Ludwig would say no, if he needed to go get a seam ripper to deal with the problem. Ludwig had looked suitably flustered but just grabbed his arms and growled at him to keep going or that seam ripper was going to be put to a very different use. The empty threat had made Gilbert laugh again, but then Ludwig did something with his legs that made Gilbert suffer temporary aphasia and he forgot about most everything else.

Three rounds was a lot for him. One more than two.

Gilbert stared at the little string, watching it slowly wave about in the drafts like dark blue seaweed. The sun had barely risen, and the thread was the only thing in focus with his near-sighted eyes. His glasses were on the other side of the room. Somewhere.

He carefully tracked the movement, listening to the sounds of an unfamiliar neighborhood at dawn. There were cats in Ludwig's neighborhood. He knew because the man had woken him up last night when he went to go curse them out as they yowled in heat. It had been a bizarre and terrifying few seconds before Gilbert remembered where he was. He'd finally drifted back into an uneasy unconsciousness. He wasn't used to sleeping in new places. Even when he traveled he took his pillow with him. Pillows were important. People drooled or coughed or sneezed and no one thought about how disgusting it all was until they had to change the linens in a hospital.

Ludwig's sheets were clean. Unsurprising but welcome.

Gilbert ran his hand down the mattress, pausing when his fingers nearly touched the other heat source. Ludwig was still asleep, his back to him. Gilbert's fingers twitched with indecision before retreat was decided upon. It was difficult to be brave when it was light out and you were naked and disoriented.

A loud thudding sound nearly scared him out of bed, and it took him a few seconds to register the noise as a phone vibrating. The lump that was Ludwig groaned and stirred, and a moment later a large hand reached out, fumbling on the side table before finding its prey. The phone was brutally silenced.

Gilbert closed his eyes when Ludwig started to sit up, automatically feigning sleep because that was easier than starting conversation. He heard the man crack his back, felt the mattress dip as his weight shifted, and then movement ceased.

There was only the sound of Ludwig breathing, and it was barely a sound at all, the guy functioned like a spy. Even when he'd been sleeping he hadn't twitched a muscle and was nearly silent. 'Assistant to the ambassador' his ass. The guy was probably in some sort of covert ops.

Gilbert waited on nervous pins for Ludwig to either get up or go back to bed. The stillness dragged on long enough that he was starting to get antsy, but just when he was ready to throw in the towel and pretend to wake up, he felt a gentle touch to his forehead. Brushing his hair out of his eyes.

He tensed involuntarily at the unexpected contact, and a moment later Ludwig said in a dark, sleepy voice, "Oh, you're awake?"

He didn't sound embarrassed enough.

Gilbert cracked open an eye, wanting to scowl and feel a bit put out because you didn't tenderly brush someone's hair off their forehead after sleeping with them on the first not even a date. But that was a difficult expression to pull off when you were nervous and tired and in an unfamiliar room. And also legally blind without glasses.

He slowly pushed himself up, letting the covers pool in his lap to cover the more delicate parts of his nudity. He offered Ludwig a tired smile in his direction, although really the man was just a fleshy colored lump, and then croaked out, "Glasses?"

"Huh? Oh – right."

There came a flurry of movement and a moment later the bed creaked again as Ludwig sat down. Gilbert blinked in surprise as his glasses were slid onto his face, and then Ludwig came into focus. His hair was standing up like an eighties rock star's – which wasn't a compliment – but his expression was pleased, albeit exhausted.

He was also sporting two imprints of Gilbert's teeth on his neck.

Gilbert quickly averted his gaze, embarrassment creeping up on him again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ludwig tilt his head to the side.

"…Good morning?" the blonde ventured, sounding a bit timid.

"Huh? Oh!"

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, his lips quirking up in a self-conscious smile.

"Yeah. Morning."

He laughed and folded his hands in his lap so he wouldn't fiddle with anything and accidentally flash Ludwig. Cock in ass at night was one thing. Cock not doing much in daylight… completely different kind of intimacy.

"Sorry. Not… much experience in this area," he admitted. "Obviously…"

Ludwig visibly relaxed and gave him a disarming smile.

"We can be awkward together. And later hyperbolize the other's inadequacy for blackmail purposes."

Gilbert laughed again, Ludwig's easy manner decapitating some of the supererogatory butterflies in his stomach.

"Well I'm pretty sure easy banter and forehead touches aren't up to code," he teased, stretching his back and grunting when it failed to pop. Painful. "You should be acting more ashamed. Lots of blushing, running around tugging clothes on, awkwardly offering me breakfast foods you don't intend to cook…"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the headboard, seeming not to mind that he was flashing more than a bit of ballsack. Guy either had confidence or was completely oblivious. He hummed in thought and then glanced at Gilbert again.

"So waffles?" he guessed, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. "You seem like a waffles type person. With insane amounts of whipped cream."

"There is absolutely no such thing as an insane amount of beaten dairy product," Gilbert said firmly, his stomach sloshing about with happiness. "There is only 'too little' and 'sufficient.' Most people unfortunately err on the side of the former."

"And you hounded me for my seven teaspoons of sugar last night," Ludwig laughed, reaching over the side of the bed to grab something. He stood up, tugging his boxers on, which left Gilbert feeling even more naked. He glanced around the room, trying to spot his discarded clothes amongst all the neatness. Fuck where had they ended up? He vaguely remembered throwing his shirt down the stairs…

He did his best to peer over the edge of the bed, but the covers began to slip and he wasn't ballsy enough to go full Monty in broad daylight in front of a near-stranger. Pun most shamefully intended.

When looking around the room like an invested seagull panned out to exactly zero, Gilbert cleared his throat and said awkwardly, "I uh… clothes? Are they somewhere?"

Ludwig had the decency to flush. He nodded. "I'll look."

He got down on his hands and knees, rummaging around underneath the bed. He threw a pair of khakis behind him, followed by Gilbert's pants and boxers a moment later. Gilbert let out a groan of relief and was about to slide off the bed to retrieve them when Ludwig sat up, his whole face red.

"You're not going to want to wear those," he said quickly, gathering up the laundry and heading out the door. "I'm going to throw these into the machine."

"What – wait! Why?" Gilbert said, watching forlornly as his pants were taken from him. Ludwig cleared his throat and then said haltingly, "Remember uh. The hallway?"

Gilbert blinked but then his eyes widened. Oh right. Time number one. Where they'd just rutted like desperate teenagers.

He let out a weak groan and slowly lay backwards, rolling over to try and suffocate himself against the dark blue pillows.

"God – you don't have to do my laundry," he mumbled, humiliated beyond belief as memories gaily flocked around the portion of his brain that housed his dignity, depleting it with every recalled groan and plea from the night before.

"I don't mind," Ludwig's soft voice drifted over, the pillow muffling it. "It's… well, it's kind of my fault. I did pin you…"

He trailed off and an uncomfortable silence settled over the room while Gilbert tried to devise a way to commit hara-kiri with the mattress tag he could feel with his big toe. There came a rustling noise from somewhere in the room, and a moment later a soft cloth touched his bare back.

"We're not that different in size," Ludwig mumbled. "Here. Just – take these. If you want a shower… I, um. There's towels. In there. I just changed them yesterday. I'll go take care of this stuff and then get started on breakfast."

"Okay," Gilbert mumbled, the air in his pillow so stale he could feel himself getting light headed. Or was that just the saccharine cloy of Ludwig's domesticity act.

He tensed as a large hand timidly patted his head, but before he could roll over and apologize for being a complete stooge Ludwig's footsteps had already slunk out of the room.

Spy. Who tiptoed around like that when they lived alone.

Gilbert carefully sat up, grabbing the clothes before they fell. He examined them. Boxer briefs, black. Sweatpants, gray. Tank top, black. He checked the size of the pants and snorted, muttering, "Roughly same size my ass…" Which was probably going to be exposed the second he tried to wear the sweatpants. They didn't even have a drawstring.

With a little sigh Gilbert pushed himself out of bed, holding the shirt and boxer briefs in front of him like a little shield as he tentatively poked his head out of the room. The house was silent.

He scuttled across the hallway into the bathroom, wincing when he caught sight of his reflection. Ludwig knew how to use his teeth. Or all the hickies were unintentional and he was actually part rodent.

After a bit of fiddling with the shower he got the temperature down from scalding and hopped in. His legs were a bit… sticky. He quickly scrubbed at the stuff with his nails, trying not to think too hard about it. Ludwig's shampoo was, thankfully, a normal brand and not something crazy expensive, so Gilbert felt no guilt dumping some on his head and scrubbing away.

Ten minutes later he emerged feeling more alive, but no less disoriented. The feeling tripled when he dried himself off with an unfamiliar towel and stepped into boxer briefs that were not his own. They were a little tight in the front (that much he remembered) but at least they weren't falling down. The tank top did little to help alleviate his feelings of being completely naked, but he wasn't about to go ask Ludwig for more clothes.

He straightened up the bathroom as best he could and then made his way downstairs, feeling more than a little nervous. The sound of cabinets opening and shutting reverberate throughout the house, and Gilbert paused on the landing, peering through the banisters into the little bit of the kitchen he could see. A warm smell drifted up through the hallway, nostalgic and comforting.

Footsteps approached the stairs and Gilbert quickly scrambled backwards, trying to make it look as though he hadn't just been spying on Ludwig like a complete weirdo.

He stood up a moment too late.

Ludwig paused at the bottom of the steps and silently observed his flailing for a moment before he said neutrally, "Do you want to help me make breakfast? I thought it might be less awkward than if I just served you."

"S-Sure," Gilbert stammered, fiddling with the shirt. He noticed Ludwig's eyes drifting lower and he said quickly, "Pants didn't fit. Figured you were already acquainted enough with my anatomy that modesty wouldn't really be an issue."

"What – oh. Yes, I don't mind," Ludwig said, turning around, but not before Gilbert caught sight of a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. "They just look a little small on you. But as long as you're comfortable."

"They're fine," Gilbert said weakly, his face turning red as well. God it was like a disease.

He followed Ludwig downstairs and into the kitchen, where he paused. There was a fancy waffle maker on the counter. The kind you found in expensive restaurants that served brunch and called smoked salmon lox and gave you weird looks if you asked for chocolate chips in pancakes. On the island in the middle were bowls of various fruits, and Ludwig was in the middle of whipping up omelets.

Gilbert gave a low, appreciative whistle.

"Jesus – how many people are you feeding? Is this a loaves and fishes situation?"

"Irreverent Testament reference aside, no, no sermon on the mount," Ludwig said in amusement, turning back to the stove. "I take breakfast seriously, that's all."

"No shit," Gilbert said, staring at the bowls of fruit. He recognized about half of the varieties of berries in there.

He watched Ludwig dice tomatoes and onions and then said uncomfortably, "So… what can I do, exactly? I don't want to throw off your chef's groove."

"Get out the plates and cups," Ludwig instructed, not looking up from the cutting board. "And could you start the coffee?"

Gilbert nodded and began his search for plates. He had to open five different cabinets before he finally found them. He set the table and then did his best to locate the coffee. After a few minutes of his pawing around Ludwig's kitchen and trying to keep from feeling awkward, Ludwig spoke up, his eyes still fixated on the frying pan.

"Coffee's where it's always been."

Gilbert paused and gave Ludwig an odd look. What the hell.

"…That means nothing to me," he said slowly.

He saw Ludwig tense and then the man turned and stared at him in surprise before he said, "Above the stove. Sorry."

"…It's fine," Gilbert said, not really wanting to get into whatever that had been. He retrieved the coffee and after several minutes of fiddling with the fancy machine managed to get it going. Tasks completed he leaned against the counter to watch Ludwig work, the earlier comment bothering him. It was obvious Ludwig had forgotten who he was. Which both begged and answered the question. He was going to ask it anyway.

"Did your ex live with you? I mean – before he was your ex, obviously."

Ludwig started so badly he nearly flipped the pan, and it took him a moment to get everything under control. He plated the omelets, his expression stony, before finally he nodded.

"We were engaged, so. Yes. He did," he said tersely. "Please move away from the counter. I need to put this in the sink."

Gilbert held up his hands and quickly retreated. Yikes. Touchy.

He let Ludwig clean up, not wanting to step on any more landmines. Guy was terrifying when he was angry. Or even mildly perturbed. The coffee machine beeped pleasantly, and Gilbert thanked God for the distraction. He poured himself and Ludwig a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, sipping at his as he silently watched Ludwig finish getting everything together.

When the spread was finally ready, it took every bit of restraint he possessed to keep from grabbing things like a desperate ape. The waffles especially called to him, and the moment Ludwig's ass touched the chair and he said, "Thanks for waiting," two waffles were already on Gilbert's plate.

"No problem," Gilbert said cheerfully, dusting everything with powdered sugar. He gave Ludwig a grin and nudged his leg under the table, trying to wipe the pensive look from the other man's face. "Thanks for cooking. Really this is – Chez Ludwig is clearly five star treatment. I'll be booking a stay again."

Ludwig chuckled quietly at that, his features relaxing. He took some of the omelet, murmuring, "It's the least I could do," before starting to eat. A much more comfortable silence fell over the room, and Gilbert let his guard down a bit more. Ex fiancé. Prickly subject, clearly, but easily avoided, even though he was brimming with curiosity.

He demolished the waffles on his plate, a little moan leaving him despite his best efforts not to act like a freak over food.

"Fuck – these are incredibly good," he said passionately. "Where the hell did you learn to cook like this?"

Ludwig's fork stilled for a moment, a bitter smile creeping over his face.

Gilbert mentally sighed. Well. Shit. So much for it being an easily avoided subject.

"He was a chef," Ludwig said simply, resuming eating. "The iron's his, actually. I meant to return it months ago when he first left, but… I'm sure you know how hard it is to let go of things."

"Yeah… sort of," Gilbert said awkwardly, fiddling with his fork. He eyed Ludwig, his curiosity bug still not satisfied. Although it was growing darker in color and the questions coming to mind were slightly bitter, even for his taste.

He speared a strawberry and then asked as normally as he could, "So just to check, last night wasn't just some… revenge plot, right? Pictures of me aren't going to end up on the internet with 'in your face Ludwig's ex' captioned underneath, are they?"

He could practically feel Ludwig's surprise. The other man's eyes widened and he blurted out a horrified, "Good _God_ no," so quickly that Gilbert believed him in an instant.

Ludwig shook his head again and said earnestly, "Francis is – was. Complicated. But it's been half a year and I'm not the type to exact petty revenge." He paused, his ears growing red before he mumbled, "Well, nothing meaner than keeping a few of his culinary items, that is."

Gilbert laughed and leaned back in his chair, glad Ludwig didn't look as upset as he had a few moments ago.

"So it's been half a year since you guys broke it off?" he asked casually, a few bits of conversation from the previous night floating up. "Because… well last night, you… implied that it had been a bit… longer than that… with other things…"

Ludwig folded his hands atop the table, his downturned eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed.

"One of the signs, actually. That things were failing…"

"Shit," Gilbert said sympathetically, unsure how else to respond. His only ex was Eliza. And she barely counted. Nowhere near 'fiancée' level.

Ludwig shrugged and prodded at a few pieces of onion still left on his plate.

"It was for the best, I think," he said calmly. "He was a bit too… free of a spirit for me in the end. The engagement was his idea but I think he started to regret it the moment I began asking about venues."

"Ah… really," Gilbert said slowly, a bit wary of where the conversation was going. It wasn't one he could exactly participate in, and fuck, he still barely knew Ludwig. He wasn't ready to play therapist to the guy.

Ludwig nodded and lifted his head, a very small smile on his face.

"So on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate my ability to completely kill a mood?" he asked lightly, taking a waffle for himself. Gilbert laughed and ran his fingers through his damp hair, relieved.

"Solid eight. You must have practice."

"Spades," Ludwig deadpanned, meticulously cutting up his waffle. He nudged the omelet plate towards Gilbert, murmuring, "You should eat some protein."

"Oh my god," Gilbert said, finding himself grinning once more. "You could not be more obnoxious right now. I love it."

Ludwig gave him a bizarre look but then laughed quietly and inched the omelet plate towards Gilbert. "I'm just concerned because last night you seemed to have difficulty with certain maneuvers."

"Hey, I had difficulty because even though I work out more than is probably healthy for my body type I could barely keep your heavy ass up," Gilbert said, pointing his fork accusingly at Ludwig before spearing an omelet.

"Yes, I vividly remember your complaints," Ludwig murmured into his cup of coffee, laughing when Gilbert scowled and kicked him in the shins.

"That better not be all you remember from last night," Gilbert threatened, wiggling his fork around. "It's fucking unfair if I'm the only one burdened with certain memories. Like you nearly crushing me."

"It was an accident and I apologized far more than necessary," Ludwig said, raising an eyebrow. "And your windpipe was fine." A little smirk tugged at his lips. "It was working a few seconds later, at any rate. I'm amazed the neighbors didn't knock on the door to see who was being murdered."

"Ha ha Gilbert's loud during sex, what an absolute lark," Gilbert mumbled, dissecting his omelet to try and give his brain something to focus on.

"I didn't say I minded," Ludwig said mildly, stealing a piece of omelet off of Gilbert's plate and receiving a light tap with a fork for his trouble. "You're far more self-conscious than you need to be, Doctor."

"Well someone's gotta keep my ego in check. May as well be my brain, dredging up every stupid thing I said or… yelled, I guess," Gilbert mumbled, polishing off his omelet before Ludwig could steal any more. He let out a little 'woff' noise as he sat back, rubbing his stomach.

"You must be in the habit of feeding herptiles. I probably won't need to eat for a month."

"Good," Ludwig said, standing up and starting to gather the dishes.

"Ah – let me help you," Gilbert said quickly, grabbing his plate and a few of the bowls of berries. When Ludwig opened his mouth to protest Gilbert just grinned and said firmly, "Rule I've always followed is whoever cooked doesn't have to clean. Sit down."

Ludwig arched a brow but obediently sat. Gilbert patted his head as he passed, laughing when Ludwig swiped at him.

As he washed the dishes he snuck glances of Ludwig every now and then. He was still sitting at the table, sipping his coffee, and Gilbert had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing when he caught Ludwig sneaking more and more spoonfuls of sugar into the drink.

"You should just melt a bunch of coffee ice cream and drink that instead," he teased, setting aside the last dish.

"Would you think me a lesser man if I admit to having done just that?" Ludwig sighed, propping his elbows on the table. "Everyone in meetings drinks this swill all the time. I have to, to save face, but God at what cost…"

Gilbert just snorted and sat back down, propping his elbows on the table. He flicked a sugar cube in Ludwig's direction, an absent smile on his face.

"Make up some bullshit study about how coffee decreases their virility. That might even be a real thing. Watch them slowly check their gonads and then abandon coffee all together."

"If I had that much clout, believe me, I would," Ludwig grumbled, draining the last of his coffee. The gentle 'thunk' of porcelain meeting wood made a little smile cross Gilbert's face. It was such a domestic sound. Calming.

He reached out to tap the side of Ludwig's mug with his fingernail, wrestling with what to say. If he even wanted to break the comfortable silence between them. But the clock was ticking and the nervous perfectionist in him needed to have a firm plan. He was trapped while his clothes were being cleaned, but that would only be another ten minutes or so. Then the pressure would start. Stay. Go. Awkwardly propose another date. Timidly ask for a label, for some sort of sign post, a vague star chart, anything to pin down what, exactly they were.

If anything at all.

Gilbert licked his lips, his hands shaking a bit with nerves.

"So was last night – I mean… was that a onetime thing?" he cautiously hedged, lifting his head a bit.

Ludwig blinked, surprised, and then hummed in thought.

"…I don't know," he finally admitted, tapping his thick fingers on the tabletop in a restless pattern. "It caught me off guard – everything about you did. Honestly." He cleared his throat and looked away. "But I'm not sure. Some things just happen organically and I'm not sure if… if it would happen like that again."

Gilbert felt his whole body go cold. Ludwig was being equivocal as hell, but reading between the lines made it fairly obvious.

"So if I asked you out on a date – a real one, I mean, you'd say…"

Ludwig scrubbed at his face and then fixed Gilbert with a tired expression.

"As friends? Absolutely yes," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "As friends who fuck, even… if it happened again I wouldn't… mind."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, the evasive language starting to irritate him a bit.

"But not as boyfriends," he said bluntly.

Ludwig flinched very slight but then shook his head.

"I'm not… really looking for anything long term right now," he said, pouring himself another cup of coffee and, forgoing appearances, just dumped the rest of the sugar bowl in his mug. "I know it's been a while, but I'm not interested in dating yet. To be blunt." He gave Gilbert an apologetic look. "I'm not sure if that's what you wanted to hear, but I see no merit in keeping you on a hook if you were interested in dating."

Gilbert felt his stomach sink, but he nodded slowly. Ludwig had been upfront. That was. Something. Good, probably.

His lips twitched up in an empty smile and he shrugged.

"Appreciate your honesty if nothing else," he said, propping his chin in his hands. "And your cooking. And whatever the hell contortionist act you pulled last night so – I mean. If you're not interested in dating then… that other thing you suggested." He lifted his head, hoping his expression was only mildly hopeful and not as fucking desperate as he felt. "Friends? Who maybe sometimes do naked stuff together? Is that still on the table?"

Ludwig groaned, but it dissolved into a weak laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fine hair falling into his eyes a bit.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said finally. "I mean you're – uh. I'm probably repeating myself from last night but you're very. Hot. And pretty considerate and sweet, so." He winced. "I feel like a jackass for wanting to monopolize that without dating or even being firmly exclusive…"

"Go with your instincts. Be a jackass," Gilbert said encouragingly, the sick feeling in his stomach abating slightly, even though… fuck. Was this going to be another Eliza situation with him hanging his emotions out to dry and the other person shitting all over them? He wasn't sure he could handle it again, but at least Ludwig would be easy to avoid if things got sour.

Ludwig laughed again and then nodded.

"All right, then. If you're sure you don't mind… I'm. I still do feel horribly, though." Ludwig gave him a guilty look. "This probably wasn't what you had in mind… and I can tell you're a little disappointed. All I can say is I'm sorry and I really am trying to be honest. My friends tell me that my honesty tends to come off as a bit sadistic, though, so… I promise I'm not intentionally being an asshole."

"Twenty-four hours ago all I had in mind was that a hot ambassador's assistant wanted to take me out to dinner. That was where all thought began and ended, so I think I'm still doing pretty well for myself," Gilbert said cheerfully, trying to remind himself of that fact. His affected enthusiasm obviously didn't reach his eyes, though, because Ludwig continued to look like a dog that had just pissed on the rug. He let out a little sigh and then stood, walking over to the counter. He returned with a piece of paper and a pen, and after scribbling down a few numbers passed the paper to Gilbert.

"I'm aware my timing on this is horrible, but would you mind giving me your cell phone and email?" he asked politely.

"Wha—yeah, sure," Gilbert said, bemused. He quickly wrote his information down, taking Ludwig's for himself. He fiddled with the piece of paper, having nowhere to put it besides shoving it in his underwear.

"So I'm _not_ supposed to take this as a premonition of… shit, what do the kids call them. 'Booty calls'?" he deadpanned, staring expectantly at Ludwig.

Ludwig snorted and muttered, "God, no. No. Just – in case you wanted to get dinner. Also since I'll be out of the country for the new few weeks."

"Wait – what?" Gilbert's eyes widened and his heart gave a pathetic lurch. "Why? I – no, that's a stupid question."

"It's not stupid – okay it is considering my job, but it's for work," Ludwig said quickly, making a soothing 'hush hush' motion with his hand. "I'm out of the country a lot, but usually not for long. This trip is to Belgium. Three weeks or so, which is the longest one I have to take this year."

Gilbert slowly sat back down. When the hell had he even stood up. He said a weak 'oh' and then looked at the piece of paper again, humiliated by how nervous he suddenly was. Attachment issues. He was like a baby bird, imprinting on whatever… fucked… him.

Maybe not like a baby bird.

He cleared his throat and then said much more lightly, "Belgium. So the waffles were a hint, huh? Should I feel stupid for not picking up on it?"

"Yes, berate yourself for not being privy to my breakfast code," Ludwig said, but his eyes were soft with concern. "I have an international plan, though, so… if you wanted to email me while I'm gone… I'd. Um. Be appreciative. Those meetings can get incredibly dull…"

"I can do that," Gilbert promised. "Not while I'm at work, obviously, but…" He gave Ludwig a rather sheepish grin. "My life outside of work really isn't anything to write home about. I'd be grateful for some distraction. And then maybe… not, uh, to be too forward, but maybe we could set up another outing? And yes, that is desperation in my voice you're sensing, good work."

Ludwig laughed and pressed his forehead against the table.

"Sure," he said, his voice muffled. "I'd be up for that."

A loud buzzing noise made Ludwig lift his head.

"That'll be your pants."

He stood and headed out into the hallway, and after a bit of indecision Gilbert followed him.

"How long have you been waiting to whip out that one-liner all casual like?" he teased.

"Rehearsed it while you were in the shower," Ludwig said, opening a pair of sliding doors to reveal a washer and dryer. "Had to get the inflection just right. Twenty percent disinterest, minimum."

"Oscar quality, really. I'll alert the Academy," Gilbert deadpanned, ducking when Ludwig threw his pants at him. He laughed and picked up his clothes, shrugging off Ludwig's tank top to pull his own shirt on. Ludwig held out his boxers towards him, rolling his eyes when Gilbert motioned with his finger for him to turn around.

"I thought we were dispensing with modesty," Ludwig grumbled, holding the boxers out.

Gilbert plucked them from the other man's fingers and got changed, zipping up his pants and breathing a little sigh of relief. Better.

"That was before I knew your modesty was going to be high tailing it to Brussels for almost a month," Gilbert grinned, plopping Ludwig's clothes on his shoulder. "Thanks for these, though. And I mean this in the creepiest way possible when I say I like whatever fabric softener you use."

Ludwig swiped the clothes out of Gilbert's hands and let them fall into the washing machine.

"The kind with the bear. I only pay attention to the color of the bottle," he admitted, closing the doors again.

Which left the two of them standing in the hallway, staring at one another.

Gilbert toyed with the slip of paper in his pocket, wondering absently where his phone had ended up. Probably with his shoes. That was good.

"So… do I leave now?" he asked hesitantly. "I'm still not totally sure how this works."

"I don't know either," Ludwig admitted, crossing his arms. "On TV shows the visiting party usually sneaks out in disgrace."

"Bit late for that," Gilbert mumbled, glancing at the door. God, he didn't really want to leave. Outside that door was an incredible amount of drama he didn't want to deal with. Work. Sick kids. Blood and guts. Ludwig's house was just warm smells and waffles and sex and classy tapestries and shit.

Or maybe that was just Ludwig himself.

Whatever the reason the fact stayed the same.

He didn't want to leave.

Gilbert worried at his lip for a moment and then glanced at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye.

"…What do you usually do on Sundays?"

Ludwig tilted his head to the side, obviously not understanding.

"…Go grocery shopping," he said slowly. "Why?"

"Are you going today?"

Another pause, and then Ludwig nodded.

Gilbert cleared his throat and then said as neutrally as he could, "Would you mind if I came along? I… uh." He rubbed the back of his neck, cursing softly. How to explain to the guy that the thought of returning to his real life made him feel physically ill.

"…You really want to come run errands with me?"

Gilbert caught the amused tinge to Ludwig's voice, and he lifted his head, his eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Why's that funny to you?"

"It's not funny," Ludwig said too quickly, obviously trying not to laugh. "I'm just surprised – one night stands don't usually cumulate in 'and then they bonded over couponing.'"

"Yeah, well for all you know I have a grandmother fetish and clipping coupons is the only way I get my rocks off," Gilbert muttered. "This could be a sexy adventure for me."

"Gilbert – God, you absolute nerd."

Ludwig finally gave in and laughed, and just when Gilbert thought his self esteem couldn't take another blow, Ludwig said fondly, "You can come on the condition that you help lug everything around. I'm not above using you for indentured labor. It's not the activity I would have picked if I were in your shoes, but no. I don't mind."

Gilbert started in surprise and glanced up at Ludwig.

"Wait – you mean you wouldn't mind if I just… hung around?" he asked hesitantly.

"Well no," Ludwig said in bemusement, "I mean, honestly I'm a bit surprised you're not wanting to leave. I can't be that interesting without beer in your system."

Gilbert fell silent, fighting off a stupid, happy smile. Maybe not dating, but God did Ludwig know exactly what to say. No wonder that Francis guy wanted to pin him down.

"You'd be surprised what I've been trained to put up with," was all he said, laughing as Ludwig swiped at him. He easily dodged the grab, dancing out of the way as he teased, "Being here is marginally better than having sick children puking all over me. You should be proud of your personality!"

"You little asshole," Ludwig growled, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "After I made you breakfast. I guess you want to go to the hardware store too, huh? And pick up my prescriptions? Maybe I should just make you be an errand boy all day."

Gilbert paused, letting Ludwig catch up with him before he said seriously, "This is the weirdest form of foreplay I've ever been part of. Just so you know."

Ludwig burst out laughing, leaning against the doorjamb for a moment to steady himself.

Gilbert watched him carefully, unable to keep from smiling.

If this was what being friends with Ludwig was like, then he knew he'd be able to eventually get over his disappointment. He didn't like keeping himself in emotional limbo. That had been his life for too long now, so the sooner he could say goodbye to the desire to slap a label that wasn't friend on whatever this was, the better off he'd be.

And God knew he needed more friends.

Even ones he was fucking. Apparently.


	7. SEVEN

Author's Notes

(~)

So many people felt badly for Gilbert last chapter. Poor guy.

Hopefully this chapter will help.

Thanks as always for reading!

(Also I have to change the rating on this chapter, so telling you now just in case)

( ~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**SEVEN**

(~)

"I swear to god, Gilbert, if I hear that vibration pattern one more time your head is going through the vending machine."

Gilbert cursed and quickly grabbed for his phone before it skittered off the table. He gave Bel a sheepish smile, but she just narrowed her eyes and pointed towards the break room door.

"Out."

"But—"

"Out!" Bel slammed her fist on the table, her cheeks nearly purple with rage. "Your damn phone keeps buzzing and you don't even have the courtesy to tell me who it is so I can gossip about it! Get out!"

She picked up her empty Tupperware and made to throw it at him. Gilbert quickly scrambled towards the door, calling out, "All right, all right! Jesus – doctors get no respect in this hospital."

"Stop being so cagey with your phone and maybe we'll respect you!" Bel howled, making the other nurses laugh and call out after Gilbert, "Watch out, Doctor Weillschmidt!" "She's serious – she'll smother you with her lunch box!"

Gilbert stuck his tongue out at Bel before beating a hasty retreat to his office, his phone clutched against his chest. He'd started eating lunch in the break room since Eliza seemed to have difficulty with crowds (crowds being more than two other people), but that also meant confronting Bel and her horde. It was a bit of a lose-lose situation, but at this point he'd take catty nurses over Eliza any fucking second. Which probably wasn't fair to her – she'd most likely improved her attitude and could talk about something other than Roderich and his amazing taste in tea, clothing, records, tandem bicycles, gardening, soccer, baking, and whatever new activity he'd mastered that afternoon. It was just easier to avoid her. Plus he had the feeling Bel had let it slip to Eliza that he'd been on a date, and having to explain that no, it hadn't been a date, yes, there had been sex, no, they weren't dating, was a conversation he was never going to be ready to have.

His phone vibrated again, and he slowed his pace to read. It was against nearly all of the rules in the hospital to use your phone during your shift, but after the third day or so he'd given in. When Ludwig had left two weeks ago, Gilbert had been wondering if he really was going to follow through with the whole 'texting buddies' thing. Their day out running errands together had gone well, and had actually made Ludwig leaving even shittier to deal with. Ludwig had dropped him off at his apartment, said a polite goodbye (no kiss, Gilbert was disappointed but hid it like a champ) and then left without ceremony. So Gilbert had figured things would stay low key, casual, Ludwig would maybe check in once or twice, no big deal.

But that first day Gilbert had turned on his phone after work and there had been fifteen messages waiting for him. They were mostly complaints about the airplane, the food, the hotel, but there was enough sarcasm and humor in them that he found himself charmed.

Fifteen was still a lot. And he really, really wanted to be upset about it or think something along the lines of 'isn't this what stalkers do,' but he was unable to dredge up any amount of negativity. He'd responded to every single one of them. Every fucking one, even the ones that Ludwig had obviously sent while exhausted that made next to no sense, they had too many spelling errors and too little cohesion. He was just as charming in words as he was in person, and after the first week Gilbert was struggling to not miss the other man.

That he'd met exactly twice.

That was the problem with getting physical so quickly, he supposed. It was difficult to relate to the other person without the excuse of hormones going nuts. But he reigned himself in, determined to stick to his original plan. Separation, then reassessment once hormones had receded to more manageable levels.

And it wasn't as though it were bad, just being texting friends or whatever the more adult-sounding term for that was. The texts were light, fluffy. Little buttercream words that made the day palatable. And Ludwig was fucking adorable and didn't want to date him.

That part was a little less sweet.

Gilbert flicked his finger across the screen, skimming the few lines of text.

/There is absolutely no way Indiana Jones would lose to Captain Kirk. Kirk may have phasers but Doctor Jones has a MacGyverish wit about him. Stop projecting your eighth grade crush fantasies. This is reality, Gilbert. It's time to face facts./

Gilbert bit his lip to keep from laughing and quickly typed a reply, going back to fix any spelling errors. It was a bit early in their weird relationship for him to be sending out garbled texts, despite Ludwig's penchant for them. Professionalism. That was key.

He deleted his entire reply and started again.

And a bit less gushing. God.

"You really need to cool it, Weillschmidt," he muttered, ducking into his office before trying again.

/Not sure which one of us has the crush, Ludwig. Dial it back a bit there, buddy. There's only so much self-insert fanfiction can do for you. On a less nerdy note, how'd your meeting go today? And how many souvenirs did you purchase me? Also, is the fake greedy shtick appealing to you at all? It's still in development stage so I need to know if I should go ahead with production or axe it before it becomes disagreeable./

He sent the text and sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers nervously atop the table. Several of his colleagues entered, wordlessly making their way over to their own desks and working in silence. Just as well. He really didn't feel like having a conversation that wasn't relayed through annoyingly small keys.

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his bar of chocolate, placing it carefully on the table. There really wasn't much left, but… oh well.

He slowly nibbled on a piece, reclining back in his chair as he thought about the rest of his day. Two more surgeries. He wouldn't be off work until nine, too late to text Ludwig again in good conscience…

The door to his office was suddenly pushed open again, and Eliza stuck her head inside.

"Hey, got a minute?"

Gilbert mentally groaned but gestured for Eliza to come in. She shut the door behind herself and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. When she spotted the chocolate bar she made a face.

"That is seriously gross. You've been eating that same bar of chocolate for like two weeks. Either that or you've got a serious chocolate hording problem."

"It's a big bar," Gilbert muttered, his cheeks coloring slightly. Eliza raised an eyebrow in interest at that and leaned forward.

"Oh? Why the blush?" she lightly teased. "Is this some sort of present? Is that why you're savoring it?"

Gilbert's scowl darkened but he pressed his lips together and refused to answer. Eliza smirked and sat back in her chair, humming.

"Obviously not from a patient, doesn't explain the blush," she mused aloud.

"You can quit the Sherlock routine any time, Eliza, it's been played out," Gilbert muttered.

"But I'm curious! And you know it's healthy to satisfy curiosity," she said airily, swiping a piece of chocolate. Gilbert bristled and let out a loud, 'hey!' of protest, but before he could stop her she'd popped it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, raising an eyebrow, and Gilbert sat back, silently fuming.

"That's a lot more murderous than you should look over a piece of chocolate," she observed. Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Oh. I see. So it's that sort of chocolate, is it?" She laughed and propped her elbows up on the desk. "So Gilbert has an admirer, hm? What's her name?"

Gilbert gave the other doctor a stony glare and wrapped up his chocolate in silence. Eliza clicked her tongue. "Fine, you're going to make me guess?" She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "That nurse, with the short blonde hair. Always wears a headband."

"Her name is Bel, and she is very firmly gay," Gilbert muttered, stowing the chocolate in the drawer.

"Really?" Eliza said in surprise, her eyebrows skirting up towards her hairline. "She hides it well."

"Yeah, she does a good job not sexually harassing the other female members of staff," Gilbert deadpanned.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Eliza protested. "I just – she's very girly. Isn't there that term… shit, what is it. Lipstick lesbian?"

"Wouldn't know." Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Eliza. "Did you need something or are you just here to bother me and steal my chocolate?"

"Oh right! The chocolate. I'm still in the middle of guessing," Eliza said with a wolfish grin. "And it's not Lyra?"

"You're not going to guess, so just get on with whatever you need," Gilbert snapped, losing his patience.

Eliza's green eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment she looked hurt, her bottom lip trembling very slightly. But then she scoffed and crossed her legs, her defensive walls zooming up so quickly they almost took Gilbert's head off.

"You're a lot less fun to be with when you're not getting what you want from me," she muttered, fiddling with her bangs. Gilbert couldn't keep from flinching at that, the words carefully crafted to leave behind a guilty residue.

"It's… that's not why," he muttered. "I'm childish but I'm not that bad. Give me at least a little bit of credit."

Eliza fell silent, pursing her full lips for a moment before she shrugged. "I hope you're not that petty, at least. And sorry for the crack about Bel. I'm. You know I'm not good with these things. Being caught off guard."

"It's fine," Gilbert said wearily, not wanting to get into another argument. Eliza nodded and then with a little flick of her hair her bad mood was dispelled.

"I need to know if you're willing to be my second on this surgery I have tomorrow," she said pleasantly. "It's not too complicated, but Williams dropped out, and—"

Gilbert's phone started to vibrate loudly, dancing across the desk. He cursed and made a grab for it, but Eliza was faster. She waggled her eyebrows at him, laughing as she dangled the phone out of reach. "Oh ho! So even the great Doctor Weillschmidt will break hospital rules now. How tragic. Our last bastion, gone."

"Give it back, Eliza," Gilbert snapped, a note of panic in his voice. Eliza obviously picked up on it, because she arched a brow and stared curiously at the phone, the text still displayed on the lock screen.

"Oh dear," she murmured, her eyes lighting up even as a slow flush spread across her cheeks. She glanced up.

"Who's Ludwig?" she asked pleasantly, displaying the screen for Gilbert to see. "Although I guess that's self-evident from the content. Your chocolate buddy, right?"

Gilbert grabbed the phone back, feeling sick to his stomach. He barely caught a few glimpses of the words, one of them a very condemning 'cock,' before he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

"He's a friend," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest to hide how his hands were shaking.

"A friend?" Eliza repeated, a look of polite interest on her face. "…The same sort of friends we were? Or are you dating?"

Gilbert clenched his teeth, wanting to tell Eliza to fuck off, it was none of her business. It was so humiliating to have to admit that he was probably making the same mistake again. Getting too attached to someone who didn't see him like that.

"…The former," he finally bit out.

Eliza let out a little 'ah' noise that made Gilbert want to shove his phone in her mouth. She sighed, her expression turning sympathetic.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to get involved with someone like that?" she asked quietly. "Especially with your first gay relationship. Wouldn't you want something more stable?"

"What I want, Eliza, is for you to stop pretending you're grilling me for any reason other than pure gossip, and to leave me the hell alone at work unless it's about work related things," Gilbert muttered, turning off his phone and shoving it in his desk. That's what he got for not leaving it password protected. And for having asshole friends. Ex-friends. Probationary acquaintances.

Eliza made a frustrated noise. "Gil, I still care about you," she said sharply. "You're one of my closest friends. I'm sorry our little time apart didn't help like we thought it would but I need you to stop painting me as the villain in everything. You knew what we had, I did too. The cards were on the table the whole time—"

Gilbert nearly groaned in relief when the intercom light on his desk phone flashed. He nearly broke his finger in his eagerness to press the button.

"What?"

"Lovely," Bel's voice drifted up from the speaker. "You need to get to prep, Doc. Surgery starts in twenty."

"Be right there."

Gilbert killed the intercom and stood, thanking every deity he could name.

"Duty calls," he said, gesturing towards the door.

Eliza pushed herself to her feet, her eyebrow twitching slightly.

"We are _having_ this conversation at some point, Gilbert," she muttered. "I – fuck. I miss having you around. You were my best friend and—"

"Oh for fuck's _sake_ Eliza this isn't an after school special!" Gilbert snapped, losing it completely. "There's no moral here! There's no repairing friendships, mending whatever bullshit got between us. It fucking sucked and even though I'm ninety nine percent sure that if this _were_ a cheap ass high school drama you'd get the villain music on entrance I'm too fucking tired to deal with your immature shit at work. You dance around the issue, always threatening me with 'we're going to talk,' 'we're going to have a talk, Gilbert,' and then when I actually _need_ you around to talk or confide you're nowhere to be found or off riding dick all the way to the top of the fucking administration. I'm tired of just being there for you at your convenience! That was my life for five years and I'm fucking sick of it! We are thirty goddamn years old; grow the fuck up, you and the priss ant both!"

He moved out from behind his desk, all but shoving his way past Eliza, who looked stunned. His office mates were typing away furiously at their computers, pretending they heard nothing. Gilbert grabbed his lab coat as he left, slamming the office door behind him. It was fleetingly gratifying.

Then he realized that Eliza was probably going to steal his chocolate and his phone to retaliate and any satisfaction went out the window. He shrugged his coat on as he walked down the hall, reveling in the irony that he'd thrown a temper tantrum at work, all for the sake of calling someone immature.

The surgery didn't go all that well. No mistakes, no slip ups, but there were a few close calls. He stayed in the observation room until it was time for his second, not wanting to leave his little spot for fear of running into anyone else in the entire hospital. Anyone at all. By the time his shift ended he was worn down mentally and physically and ready for bed. He had a half shift tomorrow, thank God, but even that wasn't enough of a reprieve, really.

He zombied his way to his office, still mildly worried that when he arrived his phone and chocolate would be gone. He didn't know which he'd miss more, initially, which was a sobering realization. Ludwig had bought him the chocolate when they'd gone grocery shopping together. He hadn't said anything, but apparently he'd stared at it so often that Ludwig had picked up on his want and had simply placed it in the cart. Gilbert had tried to put it back but Ludwig was all smiles and teasing him about his juvenile taste in sweets (but what satanic asshole wouldn't find salted caramel milk chocolate absolutely delicious, Gilbert had protested, it wasn't childish, it was humane). In the end he bought himself one too and said it would be his airplane snack on the way to Belgium, which Gilbert found incredibly cute. And it was why he'd been savoring the damn bar for the past two weeks and why he'd had a hard time judging Ludwig for his initial fifteen texts. They were both exhibiting creepy stalker tendencies. It evened out.

With no small amount of trepidation Gilbert opened the door to his office. He was relieved to find it empty, even more relieved when he opened his desk drawer and his items were still present. He packed up his briefcase and headed out, turning his phone back on. It was so old it took until he'd nearly reached the station for all the aps to load. He finally opened the messenger one, nervous about what, exactly, Ludwig had said. He waited until he was seated on the train and then opened the text.

/I had no idea what 'self insert fanfiction' was, but the Google has informed me that it's a sort of fan activity where you write yourself having sex with Sonic the hedgehog. I really hope that's not true, but if so I commend you on the uniqueness of your hobbies, if nothing else. The meetings are going; I suppose that's as neutral a way to put it. They're really boring and even though I feel ridiculous when I catch myself, my brain keeps dredging up images of. That one. Activity. That we engaged in. To get me through the more boring moments. Somehow I can sext the word 'cock' all day when I've been out of the country for weeks and am feeling a bit desperate but speaking about real life events still flusters me. Of course it does./

Gilbert reread the text several times, the terribly full bubble of happiness making him nervous beyond belief that it would pop too soon instead of gradually deflating like it properly should. There was another text, and he finally convinced himself to move on to it.

/This is the most awkward transition, but given the nature of our relationship, would you be open to that. Sort of thing. Writing back and forth about things involving. Adult scenarios. If not, that's fine – I get incredibly embarrassed but it can be fun. And I'm so useless at these meetings, there's never a job for me that doesn't involve fetching coffee and if I'm being perfectly honest with myself I do miss you in a physical way. Considering how we parted. Or how we really met, even./

There was another text, time stamped only a minute later.

/Fuck. Forget it. God I wish there were a way to take back texts. Maybe I'll fly back and ninja into your hospital and steal your phone and erase it. Saving myself the humiliation might actually be worth the cost of the plane ticket. In all seriousness, please do forget I asked. I'm so embarrassed I think my brain is trying to commit harakiri with my spinal cord. Normalness is fine. Preferred. This is a trial period after all and it's not really fair to ask anything of you. Sorry. Fuck. This is horrible. I'm horrible. I need to sleep./

By the time Gilbert reached the end of the text his face was bright red. Thankfully his stop was next, and only a few minutes later he was in the privacy of his own apartment where he could freak out in peace.

He locked the door behind him and immediately sat down on the couch, rereading all three texts multiple times.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice shaking a bit. "Fuck. Holy fuck why do I not have friends to talk to about this. Fuck me. Fuck. Just – fuck. Okay."

He began to tap out a reply, his fingers shaking very slightly. He had to delete and retype his response several times, worrying over every single word choice until he knew he was just stalling.

On a sudden impulse he pressed the send button, cursing under his breath the entire time. God. No, god. No _god no_ what had he done this was too embarrassing—

He flung his phone across the room into an armchair and immediately stood, heading for the bathroom. Shower. Shower would be distracting enough. He had a radio in there, he'd just crank it up as high as it could possibly go to forget that he'd just explicitly described what he wanted to do to Ludwig if he were in the same airspace and also probably severely intoxicated.

Gilbert stripped as quickly as he could and stepped into the shower, pressing his face against the wall.

"…Shit," he said weakly, turning on the water to drown out the rest of his cursing. He spent as much time procrastinating as he possibly could before he gave up and started washing himself. He stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, clean but still mortified beyond belief.

After making himself a cup of tea he cautiously ventured into the living room, towel still around his waist. He sipped at his tea, eyeing the face-down phone still on the armchair. Maybe Ludwig was asleep. He was probably asleep. There was no way he'd seen it, embarrassment would come tomorrow. He was psyching himself up for nothing—

His feet carried him over to the armchair, and with a few deft movements his phone was in his hand, unlocked.

There was a message displayed on the screen.

For a brief, panicked moment, Gilbert wondered if maybe he'd sent the text by mistake to someone else he'd been texting that day. The only people were Bel and a few others at the hospital but even the thought was enough to make him physically ill. It was that fear more than anything that made him read the 'from' line, and from there his eyes drifted downward to the body of the text.

/Holy shit./

Gilbert stared at the two words, torn between laughter and indignation. His fingers responded on their own, typing out a fast reply.

/'Holy shit.' '_Holy shit'_?! I spend nearly a quarter hour composing that masterpiece – I talked about sucking your balls and I've never even done that! Ever! In real life! I had to imagine it – I had to imagine ball sucking and I don't even know if that's a thing that gets you off and all you respond with is 'holy shit'?! Are you fucking kidding me?!/

He hit send and let out a burst of relieved laughter, falling back onto the couch. He pressed a hand against his face, his whole body shaking a bit from adrenaline. Emotions were weird as hell. There was no reason to feel like he'd just run a marathon, and yet, here he was. Sweaty and trembling and not even the sexy, alluring sort of quivering. The kind where you knew you should be heading for a toilet soon, your skin was clammy and your head a rolling ship in a storm.

His phone buzzed and he lifted it to read the message.

/Oh, God, no I didn't mean it as an insult or like I was dodging. You just caught me off guard and you're really good at this. At that. You must have some romance novel writer in your genes or something, although thankfully the weirder penis euphemisms seem to have skipped a generation./

Gilbert snorted quietly, tucking his legs under himself as he got comfortable.

/Flattery will get you nowhere with this. You gave me a heart attack and what, I don't get anything in return? Not even a single cock or description of oral technique? Cheap, Schmidt. And this was your idea and everything./

He hit send and picked up his mug, downing what was left of his tea before heading back into the kitchen. Conversations this embarrassing required hot chocolate to soothe the soul. Normally he would have spiked it with half a bottle of single malt scotch but he had work in the morning and hangovers and children's innards tended not to mix well.

In the middle of warming the milk, he heard his phone buzz. He waited until he was settled again before reading the new text, his cheeks slowly reddening the farther along he got.

/You're right. It's not exactly fair of me, is it. Especially not since I've been drifting off during meetings to more or less exactly what you wrote. With a few changes. Since we're both in the middle of testing the waters as far as preferences go, let me just say in advance that I'm sorry if I say anything off putting. Also… I know you like to gossip, but I'd prefer these stay between us./

Gilbert punched back a reply, trying to work the microwave at the same time, so some things got garbled.

/I ptomise. Jus between usm/

He finished making his cocoa, grabbing his phone and heading back into the living room. It buzzed again as he sat down, and he quickly opened the text.

His whole face immediately turned bright red the moment he began reading and he had to set the phone down. It wasn't event that explicit, but Ludwig had apparently learned really quickly how to get him flustered.

/Good. Because god damn do I want to be the one that fucks you this time. My mind really enjoys sabotaging me by dredging up sound bites of those noises you made. I don't think I've ever heard a grown man whine like that before. Not a complaint. And god do I want to hear it again./

Gilbert let out a little breath and picked up his phone, quickly typing a reply.

/I've been compared to a cat in heat, yeah. Not my most masculine feature, but. I'm glad you like it, I guess.

He hesitated and then forced himself to keep typing. If he was going to embarrass himself he was going to do it properly.

/That said, I don't make that noise for just anything. You got lucky last time, honestly. Show some gratitude./

He sent the text and curled up in a little ball on the sofa, wheezing quietly. He was so, so bad at being dominant unless he was actually in the thick of things. Pretending was all well and good, but his shell of conceited arrogance went about a millimeter deep and then dissolved into insecure goo. He was a rancid M&M of a human being and he knew it.

His phone vibrated again, and he scrambled for it, quickly skimming the text. He let out a weak, "Oh my god," as he read and finally had to hide his face against the couch cushion again, laughing in that nearly silent, high-pitched way he did when his brain lost function.

/Good lord, you're such a brat. I bet you anything with a bit of practice I could get you to whine like your life depended on it. I'd pin you down against that horribly ugly couch you have in your living room suck you off until you fucking screamed. A few rounds of that and you'd probably get evicted from your nice, modest building and be forced to relocate to a slightly less pickpocket-y neighborhood with fewer drunks climbing in your window. Maybe a bit closer to where I live. My mouth alone could get you evicted, Doctor, don't test me./

Gilbert finally pushed himself up and typed back a reply, unable to keep from grinning.

/And you called me a brat. I can't fucking believe you. It's a little early in the friendship to be implying I should move. Plus, you should be more grateful to that couch. It was your bedfellow during a time of great unease. Don't drag its reputation through the mud with your depravity.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping an anxious staccato against the side of his phone before he finished typing.

/And I thought you said you wanted to fuck me. A blowjob isn't fucking, Schmidt. You talk a big game but when you're forced to get down to it you'll probably just roll over for me again. Not that I would mind at all, I just thought you were a man of more conviction./

Ludwig's response came almost immediately.

/It's late and I've already had to stick my hand in a bucket of ice water to keep from jerking off. I'm sharing a room with three others who would not appreciate it./

Gilbert frowned at the short text, but another one followed right after.

/And in my defense I was in the middle of composing a message so disgustingly wanton you'd have to go check yourself into the nearest nunnery. Your impatience cost you, Doctor. For shame./

Gilbert laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, murmuring, "You're such a bastard," to his empty apartment. He took a little break to brush his teeth before he sent off another text.

/Failing to deliver the goods again, Schmidt. Whatever would the League of Nations say. P.S. I'm only wearing a towel and there are rivulets of water trailing down my bare chest. For some unknown reason I've adopted a pose attainable only by female characters on comic book covers. Did I mention that I'm also lonely and horny. I'm thinking of ordering pizza and inviting the inevitably attractive delivery boy inside because I just can't afford an honest tip./

Ludwig's reply came so quickly it made Gilbert burst out laughing.

/No delibry. Do takeoug but put a shirt on frst. Can't sex in publuc. And the league would say tha Doctor Weil Schmidt is a goddan brat who needs to shuut the hell up before i explode. When i get back i swear I'm gong to march right into your shabby domicile and fuck you ahainst the wall because i admitdyly have a thing for showing off durng sex soruy. As lon as you wnat me to of cours. Sory. Tired./

/Oh my God, Ludwig, go to bed! Jesus, you sound like a disturbingly horny yet vindictive fourth grader.

Gilbert worried at his lip and then slowly typed,

/But sure. About the fucking, I mean. Like we discussed last time I've never done that before so I'm not sure going at it vertically would be a kind introduction for my asshole but… sure. Thanks for asking./

He set aside his phone and headed into his bedroom to get changed. When he returned to the living room to get his phone, he saw that the notification light was on again, but he waited until he was in bed to read it.

/Oky. But also not okay. First time shoud be romancitc. Not against a wall lik a horny caveman os I can wait or maybe nevr do it. Whatever you want. Fuk I'm so tird. I'm going to bed. Nitgh./

Gilbert reread the garbled mess a few times, his heart thudding wonderfully loud in his chest. He pressed his forehead against his phone, kicking his legs a few times to try and calm down because good God Ludwig was so, so sweet, it wasn't even fair…

/Good night. You're a complete nerd and I reserve the right to mock you incessantly when you get back. Sleep well./

He shut off his phone after that, not wanting to distract himself even further. Already he was looking at a mere five hours sleep before he had to get up and go back into work. Part of him knew it was a lost cause, and he ended up staring at the wall for almost an hour, replaying the conversation over and over in his head, picking apart every word choice, analyzing it with the kind of obsession reserved for middle schoolers and their distant crushes.

He finally fell asleep with three hours to go, and when he woke up the next morning he was disoriented and giddy for some reason that took him a while to remember. He waited until he was on the train to start up his phone again, curious to see if Ludwig had sent him anything yet.

Zero messages.

He let out a disappointed sigh and shoved his phone in his pocket, grateful that the train was more or less deserted so he could nap in peace on the way to the hospital.

His morning surgeries went off without a hitch, even the one he was assisting Eliza with. She'd either taken yesterday's tirade to heart or was incredibly pissed because her words were few and far between and clinically professional.

Gilbert nearly cried with relief when he was done, and on his way to the train station started to plan out lunch before he remembered he'd yet to check his phone. He started it up and waited impatiently for everything to load. When it did, however, it displayed no new messages. He frowned and restarted, just in case, but again. Nothing.

Fighting back his disappointment, Gilbert turned off his phone's display and shoved it in his pocket. Ludwig was probably just busy. The conference had to be winding down soon. He'd have more free time, he'd start messaging again.

Five days came and went with Gilbert repeating that same mantra. He'd sent a few more tentative texts that started off with /Just checking in, hope I didn't embarrass you too much/ and ended with /Please tell me you're alive/. He'd lost the slip of paper with Ludwig's email address, since they'd found out texting had worked and had just gone with that.

It was Sunday, his day off, and instead of going out shopping or meeting up with friends to see a movie (friends being Bel and her minions) he was sitting at his kitchen table, flicking his finger across the screen of his phone, waiting for a text that he was pretty sure wasn't going to come. His stomach rumbled and he cast an idle glance towards his kitchen, too tired and lazy to actually make anything. Pizza, maybe. His phone was convenient.

He forced himself to sit up, doing his best to shake off the discouraged feeling. The timing really couldn't have been worse. Right after things had gotten stupid and flirty, the sudden radio silence was pretty damning. And Gilbert, being the eternal optimist that he was, kept trying to shove down his pessimistic side's guesses, the loudest of which was that Ludwig had woken up, seen the texts, and had freaked out in one of several ways all ending with him cutting off contact.

There were a thousand other things it could be. Schedule conflicts, lost phone, work, maybe he'd gotten in trouble and his phone had gotten confiscated. Did they do that during world summit meetings? Gilbert could only assume it was like high school, so probably yes.

With a heavy sigh he began flipping through his contacts, trying to find the pizza place. The guilt and unease were difficult to shake off, but dammit he was going to try. He placed an order for a large with whatever was on special and then hung up the phone and went back to brooding. He knew he'd shake it off in a bit. Go back to playing video games and not worry about the rest, but for now…

Sucked.

A knock on his door startled him out of his gloom. He stood, brows furrowed. That was way too fast for the pizza.

He walked over to the door and opened it, expecting to see Sadiq or Honda needing to borrow something.

He blinked in surprise, taking an automatic step back.

"What the shit?"

Ludwig stood in the hallway, his face pinched, dark circles under his eyes. Even so, he looked awfully resolute for someone who just came back from nearly a month of intensive work.

He stepped inside the apartment, his blue eyes still trained on Gilbert's face. Gilbert swallowed heavily and backed up, the man radiating a predatory intensity that made it difficult to speak.

"H-Hey," he stammered, feeling his cheeks color from a mixture of confusion and tentative arousal. Because holy fuck had he forgotten how intimidating Ludwig was up close and how much that apparently hit every single one of his buttons.

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow, his expression relaxing slightly to something just shy of amused.

"Hey," he said quietly, kicking the door shut behind him. "Sorry to just show up. Phone broke."

"O-Oh," Gilbert said, taking another step backwards. Ludwig followed. "Aha, well, I uh. Figured… figured it was that."

Ludwig nodded, his blue eyes surveying something behind Gilbert. Gilbert took the opportunity to clear his throat and tentatively offer, "Would you like some tea or something? You must be tired from—mmph!"

In one smooth motion Ludwig had him pinned against the wall, his lips seeking his with a desperate intensity. Gilbert let out a confused squawk, his teeth clacking painfully against Ludwig's for a moment before his Id kicked his brain to the curb and started kissing back properly. Ludwig's tongue ran over his lips, forcing its way into his mouth while the man's fingers deftly tugged up his shirt to press his palms against his chest. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, gasping in surprise when Ludwig's hands were suddenly wrapped around his thighs, picking him up completely. Gilbert instinctively wrapped his legs around Ludwig's waist and clung to his shoulders to keep from falling, his brain still working on playing catch up.

So obviously the texts hadn't driven Ludwig away.

Good to know.

He felt Ludwig groan into his mouth, needy and painfully loud, and then Ludwig adjusted his grip just a bit and it took everything Gilbert had not to squirm away when he felt an unfamiliar firmness against him. That was Ludwig, oh god it was Ludwig and he was so fucking hard and his cock was _way _too close to that particular part of his anatomy. It was enough to make Gilbert slam on the brakes before his body started writing checks he wasn't ready to cash. He turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss to gasp, "W-Wait! Wait – fuck, Ludwig, I need a moment…"

Ludwig immediately stopped, letting out a slow breath. "…Of course," he murmured against his neck, his voice dark and patient even as his fingers toyed with the button of Gilbert's jeans.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, suddenly shy about his own hard on rubbing against Ludwig's stomach. He didn't really seem to mind. Nice of him.

"S-So… how was your flight?" he said weakly, making a pathetic 'nngh' noise when Ludwig's teeth nipped at a pulse point on his neck.

Ludwig laughed against his skin and lifted his head to stare up at Gilbert, a resigned look on his face.

"You're determined to do this properly, aren't you?" he teased. "Even after I outlined exactly what I would be doing via text."

"Those were almost a week ago – I have a goldfish memory," Gilbert mumbled, pressing his forehead against Ludwig's. He grunted quietly when his back rubbed a bit painfully against the wall, but he wasn't about to move any time soon.

Ludwig hummed in response, his fingers on the zipper of Gilbert's jeans. They stopped.

"…Have you had your moment?"

He flicked the zipper pull up and down a few times.

Gilbert whimpered quietly as Ludwig's palm pressed very slightly against his front.

That was enough over thinking.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, I'm good. Fuck… just – whoa!"

He scrambled to get his legs underneath him as Ludwig set him down again. But then the other man was dropping to his knees and pulling down his zipper and god dammit the door wasn't locked and the windows were open—

Ludwig's mouth wrapped around him and Gilbert's head jerked back, slamming so hard against the wall he nearly saw stars.

He forgot about the door and the window.

They ended up stumbling into his bedroom, shirts undone, pants half off, discarded completely the moment they crossed the threshold. Gilbert barely had time to feel embarrassed that his collection of robot models was still proudly displayed on his bookshelf before Ludwig was pressing him into the bed, hovering over him and promising that yeah, it would be like before, not like the text, not this time. He slicked his fingers and Gilbert propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view, curiosity driving him more than anything. His own cheeks colored at the look of rapture on Ludwig's face, and for a moment he thought maybe he was ready, Ludwig made it look so easy, made it look like it felt so incredibly good, all the horror stories he'd read on the internet were probably just hyperbole.

But then Ludwig braced his hands against Gilbert's chest for support and sank onto his cock, and the pressure and heat were enough to temporarily drive away any lingering curiosity. Ludwig began to move in earnest, his nails digging into Gilbert's skin, his thighs trembling very slightly from the strain of supporting himself. The bed was creaking so loudly it sent a sharp spike of embarrassment through the lust clouding Gilbert's brain. It was old, he stammered, trying to apologize even while things were happening, it was old and he'd never done anything on it before and oh fuck okay you're right, fuck the bed, it's a piece of shit who even cares.

Ludwig laughed, the headboard was awfully ornate for someone with posters of robots on his wall, he teased, and oh shit it just gouged a hole in your wall, fuck I'll fix it later, I promise—

Gilbert made a little noise, tugged him down to kiss him and shut him up because holy

Holy shit.

He really didn't care about the damn wall just then.

They both lasted long enough for the headboard to chip away three more large pieces of plaster. The only reason Gilbert noticed was because one nearly gouged out his eye. He had to struggle to push it away, the majority of his mental faculties concentrated elsewhere.

Ludwig suddenly tensed and hunched over, his forehead pressing against Gilbert's shoulder, and the unexpected flood of heat, the weight and feel of Ludwig clinging to him, was all it really took.

Gilbert let out a strangled curse, his back arching off the bed at a ridiculous angle. He dug his fingers into Ludwig's shoulder for just a moment, leaving behind long, red marks, before he fell back against the mattress, his chest heaving and his legs doing that weird twitching thing they sometimes did afterwards. Ludwig's forehead was still pressed against his collarbone. It kind of hurt, but he was too exhausted to complain or do anything about it even as the man snapped his ribcage into kindling. Gilbert's fingers found their way to Ludwig's hair, petting back the sweaty strands as he stared up at the ceiling, at the little glow-in-the-dark stars he'd stuck up there in a pathetic attempt to recapture his college days. Now they just looked tacky and juvenile. Maybe they made adult versions. More realistic ones. Proper constellations.

Ludwig sighed and shifted just a bit, pillowing his head on Gilbert's chest.

"So. Flight was moved forward a few hours," he murmured absently, as though he were still standing in the doorway and not naked and sweaty and technically disgusting.

Gilbert laughed.

"Yeah. Noticed," he said, closing his eyes. "Thanks, United Airlines. Appreciate it."

"United Airlines is appalled they are being invoked at such an intimate time," Ludwig said, shifting up to lie down next to Gilbert instead, resting his hand on his hip. "They demand a formal apology."

Gilbert rolled over to face Ludwig, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I should apologize to Jesus then, too. Pretty sure he got, uh. Invoked. A lot."

"He's probably used to it. Poor guy." Ludwig's lips quirked up in a small, embarrassed smile. "Sorry about the, uh. The porn scenario. By the way. My phone has the worst fucking timing. You have no idea how pissed I was and it just kind of built up into this weird aggression – thanks for reigning me in, by the way. I guess I'm still set to automatically go for the, uh. The. The rear."

Gilbert groaned and pressed a hand against his face, laughing again.

"It's fine – pretty sure my weird yelping would have stopped you even if I hadn't gotten my wits about me quickly enough. And I promise if this continues I'd be willing to give it a shot. Just… well like you said. First time… kind of need to go slow. I hear."

"True," Ludwig said quietly, his hand moving to brush his thumb over Gilbert's cheek. "And I'm more than happy to go slow. Today was just… a different word for desperate."

Gilbert felt his face go red again, the gesture so fucking intimate it made him want to hide under the bed. Ludwig had done it last time too, hadn't he. Started touching his face and neck. Should have been weird – especially since his hand was a bit sticky and Gilbert was firmly not thinking about that right now – but with his brains still scrambled, it was nice. Confusing, but… nice.

They lay like that in silence for a while, Ludwig's fingers trailing over Gilbert's nose, his lips, jaw, throat, before he finally spoke again.

"When I was studying abroad in China – I was twenty or so. I could barely speak the language and I was so fucking stressed, every day I would go back to my apartment and get on Skype and freak out to my friends," he said steadily, as though reading a script. "I'd been there for almost half a year and then one day my computer just started shutting down. I was too incompetent to go to a repair shop, too poor to buy a new one, and I grew so incredibly desperate trying to fix it. It got to the point where I was frantic I was so… lonely. I felt isolated for the first time in my life. My family, my extended family that is, is around. A lot. I'm not really a people person but it was nice knowing the option was there, I guess, if I needed support. So although it seemed so stupid to react so drastically, even at the time, and there were a thousand other options for fixing it I kept spiraling down, getting more and more panicked and more and more cut off…"

Gilbert listened quietly, his eyes focused on Ludwig's face as best he could without his glasses.

"Shit," he said sympathetically, giving Ludwig's bicep a squeeze. "Computer issues are the worst."

Ludwig blinked, as though surprised anyone had been listening to him. He averted his gaze, his cheeks red.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't usually… anecdote. But when my phone broke this time. It. It kind of felt the same."

His hand stilled on Gilbert's shoulder and he caught Gilbert's gaze again, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I didn't like. Being isolated from you," he said, the words clipped. "I'd be more eloquent about it but all I can really say is that it fucking sucked."

Gilbert's chest tightened and he leaned in just a bit more, wanting to see as much of Ludwig's expression as he could.

"You missed me?" he gently teased. "Just in a sex deprived way or…?"

Ludwig shook his head and mumbled a quiet, "In a personality way too, you jackass," before falling silent again. Gilbert laughed, but took pity on the other man.

"I missed you too," he admitted. "Concocted, like, a billion scenarios that would have caused you to stop texting just to keep calm. My favorite was that you got so tired you mistook your phone for a waffle and drowned it in syrup. Tragic."

"It did almost get that bad," Ludwig murmured, obviously distracted. He frowned slightly, his brows furrowing, before he let out a heavy, rumbling sigh. Gilbert fell silent as well, letting Ludwig brood or whatever he was doing.

Suddenly, Ludwig spoke again.

"I take back what I said."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"…So you did just miss me in a sex deprived way…?" he said slowly. Well, it would explain the greeting.

Ludwig made a frustrated noise and gestured vaguely.

"Not that. Before. Like. Way. Before, before I left."

Gilbert propped himself up on his elbow, trying not to feel too hopeful. He schooled his expression, biting his cheek to force down his giddy smile.

"So you mean you _will_ be my live-in maid? Is that it?"

Ludwig groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, immediately recoiling when he realized he hadn't cleaned himself up yet. He reached over Gilbert's body for a tissue on the nightstand and began steadfastly wiping his hands.

"Not that either, jerk," he muttered. "The thing about. Us. Labels. Labels for us."

Gilbert was fairly sure he was going to explode so he spoke very quickly before guts redecorated his bedroom and ruined his limited editions.

"I get pretty needy," he said, sitting up so he could stare down at Ludwig to hopefully give his words a bit more emphasis. "I'm neat but in that semi-neurotic sort of way that makes sense to only me. I'm not a great cook. Worse baker. I – I mean I look fantastic, don't get me wrong, but other than that I'm not sure what I can bring to the boyfriend table."

He took a deep breath, the words coming like vomit now that he'd started.

"I have childish taste in extracurriculars," he continued, scooting away a bit so Ludwig could sit up as well. "I sometimes throw tantrums – oh yeah I cussed out Eliza and accused her of sucking dick to get promoted, that was nice – I'm scared of my own job sometimes. I like to pet cats even though I'm allergic, which I'm pretty sure points to a low self-preservation instinct, I—"

Ludwig clamped a hand over his mouth and the rest of Gilbert's list fizzled out. He stared at Ludwig, scowling when the other man quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not doing this to be rude. You have a vein in your forehead that's doing a weird, bulging dance, and I think you were about to work yourself up into an aneurysm," Ludwig explained, the annoyed look on his face not really hiding his amusement very well. He lowered his hand. Gilbert automatically licked his lips and stared nervously at Ludwig in lieu of saying anything.

Ludwig sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, casting little glances Gilbert's way before he gave in.

"You can date me. If – if you want. Obviously," he mumbled. "I'd. I'd very much like that, actually. I know what I said, and it's true, I don't. I'm not exactly ready, but. If you're willing to put up with me getting over things – you'd help. A lot. I just have a feeling. And I really like you and it's kind of creepy and possessive of me but I was worried someone was going to ask you out or – I don't know. I'm an anxious person underneath my cool cucumber façade – fuck. No – god, I've never said 'cool cucumber' in my entire goddamn life what is wrong with me."

He groaned and rested against the wall, pressing his hands against his face.

Gilbert watched Ludwig beat himself up for a few seconds, needing the realness of abject humiliation to convince himself that Ludwig was telling the truth. He finally reached out and gently tugged Ludwig's hands away, fighting back a stupidly excited grin.

"Okay," he said, the casualness of the response clashing with how badly his voice was shaking from excitement. "Okay. I'll be your boyfriend. Please. I'd like that, yes. And I'm not making fun of you I swear – even though your penchant to speak in single clause sentences when you get flustered is adorable as hell, I'm just nervous because I've never had a boyfriend before and you've had lots and are – I mean you're so hot. And you being into my personality as well as my external meaty parts is going to take me a while longer to get used to."

"Oh my god," Ludwig burst out laughing, lightly shoving Gilbert away. "I will pay you actual currency to never use the phrase 'meaty parts' again in conjunction with any person."

Gilbert rolled with the little push, a huge grin on his face.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," he threatened, perking up when he heard a knock on the door. He stood, grabbing his boxers off the floor and tugging them on.

"Who's that?"

"Pizza," Gilbert said cheerfully, starting to make a beeline for the door when a hand around his wrist stopped him. He glanced at Ludwig, curious. The other man gave him a look of exasperation before he laughed and shook his head. He stood up, pressing a kiss to Gilbert's cheek before butting their foreheads together again.

"So," he said quietly, his baritone ringing in Gilbert's ears. "Boyfriends?"

Gilbert swallowed heavily, his knees going weak just from the word. He gave a little nod and pressed a shy kiss to Ludwig's lips.

"Yes, please," he said softly, unable to keep from grinning. The pizza boy was going to think he was a lunatic.

"Boyfriends."


	8. EIGHT

Author's Notes

(~)

Whew! I'm struggling to balance writing with my new job, but I still managed to get this out! Thanks for your patience, guys. I really appreciate it. And thanks as always for reading.

So this chapter is mostly fluff, which is one of the reasons it was so hard for me to write. Because I'm a monster who enjoys angst too much. And I never know what to do in its absence.

Enjoy!

(~)

**Inadvertent Misdemeanors **

**EIGHT**

(~)

The blaring alarm didn't put up much of a fight when it hit the far wall. Its strident wail jumped a few octaves before petering out. Pulverized plaster fell around the destroyed clock. Like snow.

Gilbert let his arm flop back onto the bed, staring at the blurred mass of colors in front of his eyes. It was still dark. People talked about how amazing the air smelled in the morning before sunrise. They were lying fucks. Four AM was a horrible time to wake up and an only okay time to go to sleep.

Behind him the bed dipped as Ludwig stirred. The arm slung around Gilbert's waist tightened.

"You owe me another one. Again."

Ludwig's sleep-heavy voice made Gilbert snort.

"I told you last time to get one of those that make the nature noises. Then I wouldn't get so irritable," he pointed out, tugging Ludwig's hand up to rest against his chest.

"'spensive," Ludwig mumbled, his face pressed between Gilbert's shoulder blades. "Then you'd owe me fifty every time… 'stead of ten…"

"Ah, I see. So you're really just looking out for your poor, doctor boyfriend, is that it?"

Ludwig hummed, his legs twining with Gilbert's even more.

"Yes. 'm… philan…thropic…"

Gilbert let out a little sigh and patted Ludwig's arm before starting to untangle himself from Ludwig.

"A four syllable word at this hour. Kudos. But you should go back to sleep, nerd. I'll set another alarm for you."

Ludwig grunted softly, his hold tightening even more.

"Ten more minutes."

"What—oh my god, I'm not having this fake fight again," Gilbert groaned, struggling to free himself. "I have morning shift these next two weeks, you know that. Would you rather I show up here at three in the morning after night shift?"

Ludwig fell silent after that, and for a moment Gilbert thought he'd fallen back asleep. But then Ludwig's deep voice drifted up again, muted by the covers and his back.

"Don't… don't want you working at all… 'cause… selfish…"

"''Cause selfish' indeed," Gilbert muttered, gently pryingly Ludwig's hand off of him and wriggling out of bed. Ludwig let out an angry chuffing noise but otherwise remained silent.

Gilbert slipped on his glasses and finally risked a glance at the bed. Ludwig had one eye cracked open and was staring ruefully at him. The petulant blonde grabbed a pillow and hugged it against his chest instead, mumbling, "Wake me up after your shower so I can say goodbye properly…"

"You know it makes me feel guilty when I do that," Gilbert said, moving to 'his' drawer of the dresser that Ludwig had set aside for him. His stuff had started to pile up and become 'unsightly.' Not his words. He tugged on boxers and then felt around in the closet for a pair of scrubs. He'd left several sets behind. Just in case.

Clothes located, he headed into Ludwig's bathroom and quickly showered and got ready. Four AM wakeup was a bitch, but Ludwig's sulky reactions to literally everything made it tolerable. He didn't handle mornings well, which Gilbert had reveled in when they'd first started sleeping regularly together. Which was honestly right after Ludwig had asked him out, so two weeks.

Felt longer.

Decently clean and more or less awake, he padded back into the bedroom and flopped down next to Ludwig again. He checked the time. 4:15. He had to go in five.

Ludwig had burrowed under the covers again. Nesting, Gilbert liked to tease. He curled up against the lump of person, nuzzling Ludwig's shoulder. Probably his shoulder.

"Lutz," he murmured, his fingers trailing through the few locks of blonde hair that peeked out from underneath the sheets. "I've gotta go…"

The lump stirred and the covers parted. Ludwig peered out from underneath them, still looking like an ill-tempered child. With a heavy sigh he sat up and gave Gilbert a quick kiss before bowing his head to rest against Gilbert's shoulder.

"…And you can't call in sick, right?"

"When have I ever answered yes to that. Even though you ask every fucking day, you loser," Gilbert teased, nuzzling Ludwig's temple. "Want me to stop by again after work?" He knew the answer but the selfish part of him loved hearing it every time.

"Yes. You don't need to ask." Ludwig lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. He pressed a hand against Gilbert's cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath Gilbert's eye.

"You have your key?"

Gilbert tilted his head into the touch, sticking out his tongue slightly.

"Yup. Get to play latchkey kid again, huh?"

"Mm. I'll be back at six."

"Can we do pizza? I know we had it the night before last but… c'mon. Pizza."

"How are you a doctor. How are you not dead from a cheese-induced heart attack, I don't understand these mysteries of the universe."

Gilbert laughed and bumped his nose against Ludwig's before giving him a kiss. "You're delusional from lack of sleep. Go back to bed, you big palooka."

"Your insults make you sound like you're a time traveler from the nineteen thirties I hope you know," Ludwig grumbled, but he kissed Gilbert back and then huddled under the blankets again.

"Gotta stay classy for my ambassador boyfriend."

"Assistant to the."

Gilbert barely caught the muffled words as he stood. He laughed. "Ludwig. Sleep."

After dodging the pillow that was half-heartedly chucked at him, Gilbert scurried out of the room. Before he began seriously entertaining the idea of calling in sick. He grabbed his bag, doing his best to tiptoe down the stairs so Ludwig wouldn't yell at him for acting like an elephant. Outside the morning fog had yet to dissipate. Gilbert tugged up the collar of his coat, shivering. He waited impatiently for the first train of the day, the platform deserted. It was always unnerving during transition hours. The bars were closed. No one was up yet for work, except maybe a few sanitation specialists.

As the train pulled into the station, he glanced over his shoulder towards Ludwig's townhouse. Two weeks since they'd started dating. He'd kept the relationship under wraps as much as he could but fuck it was so hard. Especially with Bel asking questions every five seconds and Eliza getting quieter and quieter with each one.

He stepped onto the train and sat down, ignoring the lone other passenger. Also a doctor. Or someone madly in love with the color teal.

Slowly he tipped his head back to rest against the window, closing his eyes. His apartment was probably in shambles. Dust everywhere. Dust could accumulate in two days, right. That was a thing.

He made the executive decision to at least stop by his apartment (and not just to get more clothes and dump out the inevitably-spoiled milk in his fridge) just as the train pulled into his station. The hospital was still waking up, mostly dark. The half-lit windows made patterns in places. Tile. Weird Jack-o-Lantern faces. The streets hushed and empty. No one around to appreciate them.

Gilbert humanely guillotined the part of his brain that was crying to go back to Ludwig's, and left it outside the building. Pining could come during his lunch break. When he wasn't busy shoving needles into tiny people.

After checking his schedule he headed into his office and began the tiring task of sorting his files before his rounds began. He felt his phone buzz and after a bit of warring with himself –because he really was trying to break the habit god he was it was just so, so hard –he checked it.

/I found your wallet in the kitchen. Also your pants were there. We need to develop a better system. Laundry baskets strategically placed around the house for your convenience, perhaps. Need me to run it by later? The wallet. Not the pants. I hope you have other ones on. It's a children's hospital./

Gilbert bit back a snort of laughter and quickly typed a reply.

/Nah, I can bum money off of Bel for lunch. Don't worry about it. Go back to bed, you still have an hour, right?/

Ludwig's reply came almost immediately.

/Couldn't get back to sleep. Don't read too much into this but it was probably because I was missing you terribly and suddenly the bed felt too big and lonesome. I probably cried. Languished. All that. I think I'll hit the gym early so I'll be back around five today. Pizza for dinner? Completely my idea./

Gilbert read the text a few times, biting his lip to keep from smiling too much. Ludwig would deny it vehemently because he apparently reveled in cultivating a negative image of himself, but he really was the kindest person to ever set foot into Gilbert's life. Or on the planet. He was a Golden Retriever of a human being, honestly, and Gilbert still had little to no idea how their miracle of a relationship had actually happened. There were times when he was still convinced it was some weird fever dream of his.

/Pizza sounds great. What a fantastic idea, you absolute genius. I'll see you at five, then./

He hesitated with his thumb on the power button and then let himself read through the texts one more time before shutting down his phone and stuffing it in a drawer.

Right.

Patients.

He managed to wrench his mind back to where it belonged, firmly at work, as he began his rounds. Most of his patients were still asleep, so it was just a matter of checking their charts, their vitals, and gently grilling the nurses about their condition. By the time noon rolled around the hospital was lively again. Children dashed through the halls and Gilbert fought not to yell at them. The nurses could do that, he wasn't about to rain on any parades. Most of the kids were already scared enough of him. No amount of smuggled candy or comic books could combat a scalpel or sutures.

He made his way back into his office and slumped down at his desk. Morning shift meant he slept through his lunch break. The little lie he'd told to Ludwig earlier about bumming money off of Bel made him feel badly, but what Ludwig didn't know he couldn't scold him about. It was amazing the alacrity with which Ludwig berated him considering they'd only known each other for a little over a month…

Gilbert rested his cheek on his desk, his fingers itching to yank open the drawer and turn on his cell again. There wouldn't be anything new – Ludwig knew better than to text him during the main part of his shift – but there were old messages he could read…

Dammit. Weillschmidt.

Gilbert cursed softly and tugged his labcoat over his head. He was in deep, wasn't he. Rereading messages even though they were already going out and the supposedly titillating-est part of their relationship development was over. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep. He'd been able to make himself pass out on command in med school. No reason why a skill like that would up and disappear.

Just as he was starting to drift off, a knock on his office door made him lift his head. He didn't have any surgeries scheduled, so it was either an emergency or there was about to be one after he shanked whoever dared bother him.

"What?" he snapped.

The door was slowly pushed open. A blue eye peered through the crack in the door.

"Oh thank god."

Gilbert perked up at the sound of the familiar voice. A moment later Ludwig came striding into his office, looking relieved.

"You have no idea how belligerent some of these nurses are," he complained, setting a bag down on Gilbert's desk. "The last three offices were very rude. At least I think they were offices. One contained a gurney and everyone had blood on their hands. Maybe I accidentally discovered a murder."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gilbert said in mild surprise, ignoring whatever other nonsense Ludwig had said because he was being purposefully inane just to annoy him.

Ludwig smiled and tapped the bag.

"I got nervous thinking about you wandering around without identification. What if someone thought you were a model and started harassing you and you wouldn't be able to prove them wrong."

"Nope. Stop that. You're already dating me, you don't need to keep piling on the charm until you become some untouchable being," Gilbert said quickly, holding out his hand. Ludwig laughed and gently pushed the bag towards Gilbert.

"I'm sure you can guess because this bag is comically large for just a wallet, but there's something else inside. And you should look quickly because I hate suspense."

"You're so weird," Gilbert grumbled, but he pulled the bag over and peered inside. He laughed in delight and pulled out the containers.

"Shitty Chinese food! You _do_ care!"

"Shitty Chinese food for two. I figured I could take my lunch break here, if you don't mind," Ludwig offered. His voice was its normal cavalier tone, but his expression was tentative and so sweet and unsure it made Gilbert's heart melt.

"I don't mind, but you'll have to eat standing out in the hallway. Doctors only," Gilbert said solemnly, pulling out the containers and setting them up on his desk. "Hope you're good at balancing containers of lomein over your three thousand Euro suit." He frowned as he rifled through the bag. "Whoa. Shit, no forks? You're kind of asking a lot of me here. How do you know I can use chopsticks?"

"Because you're under the age of fifty and not a racist asshole?" Ludwig said slowly. "At least I hope you're not."

"Again, you're asking a lot of me here. Starting with the 'under fifty' thing," Gilbert pointed out, handing Ludwig a pair of chopsticks. "I mean, you've seen the hair. You know the carpet matches the drapes. Never seen my license. I could be old for all you know." He grabbed a container of noodles and dug in, letting out a little moan of appreciation.

"Having been privileged enough to witness the extremes to which you can bend, I'm a thousand percent sure you are either under the age of fifty or a yoga master. In which case you'll probably outlive me anyway so your age is moot," Ludwig said, taking some of the chicken and making up a plate for himself on one of the container lids.

"I'm really not that flexible. It's just hard to stay upright when you have girth the size of your average linebacker manipulating your body into various positions," Gilbert said, stealing a piece of Ludwig's chicken.

"Don't – can we not call it girth?" Ludwig mumbled, his cheeks turning a bit red. "You're making me want to stop going to the gym. Maybe I'll shrink down and be a stick figure like you." He paused and then glanced up towards the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Barbellus, god of the gym. I take it back. This heathen will not lead me astray."

"You know, I'd like to go to the gym with you at some point, if that's okay," Gilbert said, ignoring Ludwig as best he could and receiving a gentle kick under the desk for his efforts. "And not just to make sure you're not scoping out other guys or… ladies? Is that a thin—nope, not a thing, don't need to make that horrified face I get it."

"I don't mind, but with your schedule that might be hard to manage. You could just do an informal thing with me in my workout room," Ludwig suggested, raising an eyebrow. "I'm assuming the reason you want to come is to see me all disheveled and glistening. Although as you probably know—"

"Less glistening more dripping, yeah I know," Gilbert teased, laughing when Ludwig blushed redder. He was about to lay into him again when the intercom beeped. With a resigned sigh Gilbert pressed the flashing button.

"What."

"Lovely. I need to see you in Krista's room, Doctor. There's a new lesion I want you to take a look at. Won't be long."

Gilbert rubbed a hand over his face, regretting it immediately when grease got everywhere. Damn noodles. He fumbled around for a napkin, giving Ludwig a grateful smile when the other man gently pressed one into his palm.

"You were starting to embarrass yourself," Ludwig stage-whispered, laughing when Gilbert kicked him in the shin.

"That's fine, Bel, I'll be there in just a second," Gilbert said normally, quickly wiping his glasses before standing up. He killed the intercom and flashed Ludwig a smile.

"Sorry. Duty calls."

"It's fine," Ludwig said with a dismissive wave. "I'm the asshole at work who's taking a two hour lunch today just to see you, so take your time."

"…I can't tell if you're being passive-aggressive or just flippant with me."

"The latter." Ludwig flashed him a small smile. "Plus it's really sexy to hear other people call you 'doctor.' Maybe we should start implementing that in the bedr—"

"Nope! Nope, leaving now," Gilbert said quickly, making a beeline for the door, Ludwig's laugher still ringing in his ears. He quickly made his way to Krista's room, ignoring Bel for the most part as she chatted with him while he checked the dressing and sutures of the girl's wound. It was mildly infected and he had to lance it, but Krista was brave, only a few tears. A quick twenty minutes later he was walking back down the hall with Bel, discussing other treatment options.

His feet came to an automatic stop in front of his office door. For a moment he couldn't figure out why, but then he heard voices inside and remembered.

Holy shit.

He'd left Ludwig alone.

"…Doctor, do you not remember how doors work."

Gilbert cursed softly.

Holy shit.

Bel was with him.

"Can I just swing by the nurses' locker room later to drop off the files?" he asked, trying to sound as cavalier as possible. Bel raised an eyebrow.

"You want to walk all the way across the hospital instead of letting me walk five feet through a door."

Her eyes slowly widened and she peered around Gilbert, staring at the frosted windows on either side of the door.

"What is it? Oh my god, what's going on, is there something in there?" she asked, her voice rising in excitement with every word. "What are you hiding?"

"Why do you automatically assume I'm hiding something?" Gilbert complained, cursing again as he mentally threw in the towel. Whatever. Bel was going to weasel her way into his relationship at some point. May as well be now.

With a tiny sigh Gilbert opened the door. He came to an abrupt, unpleasant stop when he realized that Ludwig wasn't alone.

Roderich paused mid-sentence. He stared at him over the tops of his glasses, a disapproving frown on his face.

"Doctor Weillschmidt. You failed to provide your guest with a visitor's badge." He tapped his breast pocket. "Please do try and remember protocol."

Gilbert fought not to take his clipboard and decapitate the director with it. It would go agonizingly slowly. Anne Boleyn levels. He glanced Ludwig's way, but the other man merely raised an eyebrow and gestured towards Roerich.

"Doctor Edelstein was kind enough to provide me one. And he's been keeping me company." Ludwig gave the director a tiny smile. It oddly enough made him look like a Disney villain. Gilbert didn't recognize the gesture.

"Oh. That's… good," Gilbert said slowly, Ludwig's icy tone making him a bit uncomfortable. With his already intimidating stature it was hard to tell if Ludwig was actually pissed with him, pissed with Roderich, pissed at the world, and what exactly he was thinking. Probably something bad.

Roderich gave Ludwig a tight-lipped smile. "I had no idea Doctor Weillschmidt's spheres of influence extended all the way up to the ambassador level. He's a rather humble employee here. And I don't mean to doubt your credentials, but we have to be rather careful who we let roam our halls. Security concerns…"

"I'm nothing that grand, I can assure you," Ludwig said coldly, returning the empty smile. "If you would like my card, Director Edelstein, I can have one faxed over. Unfortunately I came today in a bit of a rush and don't have any on my person."

"Oh no it's quite all right," the director said immediately, backpedaling so quickly he nearly tripped over his own words. "I didn't mean to imply anything negative about your personage, I can assure you."

"No offense taken." The words implied forgiveness, but the way Ludwig's blue eyes narrowed made Gilbert want to hide under his desk. And he wasn't even the one Ludwig was pissed off at.

Hopefully.

Roderich seemed to sense Ludwig's anger, probably because he wasn't completely incompetent when it came to social queues (miracle of miracles), and cleared his throat.

"Well it was lovely to make your acquaintance," the director said stiffly. "Although in the future – doctors really aren't supposed to have visitors, except in cases of emergencies."

"This was an emergency, Doctor Edelstein, I can assure you. I don't take interrupting a hospital's workings lightly," Ludwig said, all traces of smiles and what little good cheer there had been leaving his voice. "And to be quite frank I don't appreciate your implications to the contrary."

He sat back down and picked up his carton of Chinese food again, gesturing with a chopstick.

"I think that will be all, Director Edelstein."

Roderich's glasses nearly vibrated off his face from how hard he was shaking. Whether from anger or humiliation, Gilbert couldn't tell. Probably half and half. A swirled cone of discontent.

"I see. I'm sorry to have offended you." Roderich's blue eyes darted to the side to stare fixedly at Gilbert for one horrible moment before he turned on his heel and left.

The door clicked shut behind him, but Gilbert remained where he was, staring at Ludwig. He swallowed heavily and was about to say something when another voice got there first.

"…Holy fuck."

The whispered words made him turn around. He immediately froze, staring in horror at Bel. He'd completely forgotten she was there. She was standing off to the side, her clipboard clutched against her chest. And she looked, predictably, delighted with the tension that had just unfolded in front of her.

Gilbert took an automatic step closer to his nurse, hissing in warning, "Bel…" But true to form, she paid him no mind and immediately dashed to Ludwig's side, her green eyes bright with perverse curiosity.

"Are you really an ambassador's assistant and not a male escort."

Ludwig nearly dropped his chopsticks. He blinked and turned to face the nurse.

"…Relatively sure," he said slowly. "Although I am forced to content with my fair share of dicks. The recently departed Director Edelstein a prime example."

Bel let out a loud 'HA!' of pure joy and then glanced over at Gilbert.

"This is it, right?" she said excitedly. "The reason you've been so out of it at work?"

"Bel – you can't go around calling people fancy names for prostitutes, Jesus Christ," Gilbert groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I don't even care the guy is so fucking hot it makes zero sense otherwise," Bel said happily, twirling a bit as she faced Ludwig again. "So are you Gilbert's boyfriend?"

Ludwig dissected a piece of chicken with one of his chopsticks.

"Why don't you ask him that?"

Bel immediately whirled around, fixing Gilbert with a stare so intense he felt the tips of his ears redden.

"Well?"

"I—just—god." He made a frustrated noise and sat down behind his desk. "If I say yes will that make my life better or worse. Just an innocent question."

"Oh worse, definitely, but your reaction pretty much answered for you," Bel purred, plopping down atop Gilbert's desk. Her eyes slid to the side to study Ludwig.

"You're scary when someone angers you, aren't you, Pretty Woman?"

"Pretty—what." Ludwig looked at a loss for words, but the icicles that had temporarily hijacked his personality seemed to have melted the moment Roderich left. Thank god. Ludwig finally shrugged and pushed a carton towards Gilbert. "I know Gilbert isn't fond of the man, and after meeting him, although I did my best to remain impartial, I was inclined to feel the same. He's very oily and reminds me a good deal of some of the more unctuous politicians I deal with. I may have. Slipped. Slightly. Back into work mode."

"So that's what you're like when you're at work? All the time?" Gilbert blurted out, pushing Bel off his desk and pointing towards the door. "Out, Bel."

She let out a little whine even as she shuffled away.

"The files…"

Gilbert let out a little growl and tossed the folder file at Bel. She caught it skillfully and struck a touchdown pose before scuttling out the door, calling out, "I'll be grilling you about this later, Doctor!" over her shoulder.

Gilbert groaned and rested his head against the desk, staring at the wood grain. His glasses were pressing painfully against his nose. He was hard-pressed to care.

"I'm sorry." Ludwig's deep voice made the surface of the desk vibrate slightly. "I assumed your coworkers knew. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"It's fine," Gilbert mumbled. "She'll torture me for information later, but what's a few thumb screws among colleagues."

Ludwig chuckled quietly. Gilbert started when he felt hands in his hair, but he remained still, letting Ludwig pet him like a weirdo.

"Poor doctor. Even your own director doesn't give you the time of day as he should."

"He's a shithead, that's for sure," Gilbert said wearily, pushing himself up. He picked at his food for a moment before cautiously venturing, "So you were a little… intense. Around Roderich…"

"Was I?" Ludwig asked, sounding honestly surprised. "I suppose I did slip into work mode, like I said…"

"That was work mode? Really?" Gilbert propped his elbows up on the desk, staring fixedly at Ludwig. "'Cause honestly I was ready to piss myself. I don't know how people deal with you when you're like that." He tilted his head to the side, suddenly a bit… worried. "…So is that… your default mode? I've never really seen you like that."

"Default mode – Gilbert, I'm not a robot," Ludwig muttered, furrowing his brow a bit. "I know I get a bit intense at work sometimes, but I'm still me."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure if that Ludwig had been the one to take me out to dinner things wouldn't have progressed beyond me awkwardly asking you if it was okay to order dessert and you breaking the table with your fists at the mere suggestion," Gilbert said, raising an eyebrow. "I think it's a legitimate question."

Ludwig fell silent, staring at the desk for a moment.

"…I don't. I don't really know what you're talking about," he finally admitted, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm sorry if I was overly harsh with Doctor Edelstein but—"

"What? No, fuck that prick," Gilbert said, standing as well. "It's just… weird. To see you that… I dunno. Intense." He rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling a bit out of sorts. It was hard to reconcile the cold, commanding presence with the sweet, dorky guy in front of him. He bit his lip and then glanced up cautiously at Ludwig.

"Since you've visited me at work, would it – I mean, I know security clearance is probably a lot worse but would you mind…" He trailed off, not sure how to ask Ludwig if he could come visit him at his big, fancy government job. Because honestly he'd probably make a fool of himself and that went well for exactly no one. But before he could stammer out something to rescind the question Ludwig had all but pounced.

"Sure!" he said eagerly, his eyes widening. "In fact – god this is such good timing, but I was too scared to ask. There's a banquet coming up, semi-formal, tux not necessary, and I was wondering if. Well. I mean, seeing as how we're. Dating. Boys. Boyfriends. God no – we're not dating boys, please ignore me when I'm nervous—"

"Are you Beauty and the Beast-ing me?" Gilbert excitedly interrupted, practically launching himself over his desk. "Is this a ball?! Like fancy – will there be violins?! That's the mark of any classy event, I hear, is violin music. Could be biased 'cause I play myself but is it?"

"Which one of us is the beast in this – okay, me, you're pointing rather vigorously," Ludwig said with a quiet laugh. He licked his lips and then nodded, very slowly. "If… you wouldn't mind," he said, giving a little bow and holding out his hand. "Although like I said, it's a banquet. Not a ball."

"Please never bow to me again, I feel like I need to buy you a fedora," Gilbert mumbled, taking Ludwig's hand and tugging him upright. He held on tightly to Ludwig's hand, practically vibrating with anticipation. "But yes. Please. I wanna be fancy. I hear I make really good eye candy."

"You do," Ludwig said solemnly, leaning across the desk to kiss Gilbert's cheek. "I'm glad you understand why I'm taking you. Your job is to look pretty, hold a champagne glass, laugh at the ambassadors' jokes, make me look good by deafult…"

"I can do that," Gilbert said eagerly. "I'm good at being a sycophant – how do you think I got hired?"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow and pointedly lowered his gaze to Gilbert's crotch. Gilbert burst out laughing and punched Ludwig in the arm.

"Right! Right, of course, Roderich was so enamored with my enormous cock he said 'sure come work for my children's hospital,'" he snickered, hopping up to kneel on the desk so he could return the kiss. He pressed his lips to the corner of Ludwig's mouth, teasingly pulling away when Ludwig tried to deepen it.

"Ludwig, please. Not in front of the children," he said loftily, raising an eyebrow.

"There are zero children in your office – why do you think I chose this local," Ludwig quietly teased, threading his fingers through Gilbert's hair. He leaned up, closing the distance between them to gently press his lips against Gilbert's. Gilbert's eyes fluttered shut, the tenderness of the gesture making his stomach clench pleasantly. When Ludwig broke the kiss after only a few seconds of contact, Gilbert whined quietly and tried to lean down for another one. Rough fingers against his lips stopped him.

"I've got to go," Ludwig said quietly, a note of irritation in his voice. "I think two and a half hours is excessive for a lunch break. Even though I am otherwise flawless at my job."

"I should get back too," Gilbert muttered, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to Ludwig's nose and lips. "Damn unwell children. I wish there were no more sick kids."

"That's the nicest complaining I've ever heard," Ludwig said with a laugh, his hand lingering for a moment at the nape of Gilbert's neck before pulling away. He gave him one last smile as he grabbed his briefcase.

"I'll see you at five."

"See you," Gilbert echoed, still crouched on top of his desk. He stared sadly at Ludwig, already calculating the number of minutes he had left in his shift. Ludwig's hand was on the doorknob, but he faltered when he caught Gilbert's eyes. He cursed quietly, turning his head away again.

"Stop that," Ludwig muttered, yanking the door open. "It's already hard enough to leave without you looking at me like an abandoned infant animal. And you know I have a thing for you crawling on top of furniture to be taller than me. We've talked about this."

"Your very specific and weird kink, I know," Gilbert said, sliding off his desk to pad over to Ludwig. He gently pressed his fingers against the small of Ludwig's back, ushering him out the door. "Go on. Sooner you leave, sooner you get to see me again. And sooner you get to see pizza again, which, I mean. Just as much if not more incentive."

"Not even close," Ludwig muttered, adjusting his bag. He rested his hand against Gilbert's cheek and leaned down for one last kiss before straightening up. He ran his fingers distractedly though his hair, and then with a quiet mutter of, "Be strong, Schmidt," headed down the hallway. Gilbert watched him go with a mournful look on his face before slowly retreating back into his office. He sat behind his desk, staring at the half-empty containers of food.

Oh god.

God this really wasn't good.

He pressed a hand against his face, quietly cursing himself.

It wasn't fair that he missed him already. Not when it had been all of two fucking seconds.

With a loud groan he threw himself back into work, desperately searching for a distraction. Five PM. He could hold on until then.

As the day went on, however, and with fewer and fewer distractions to preoccupy him, Gilbert found himself replaying the bit of conversation he'd stumbled into. Over and over until he had the whole confrontation practically memorized. It was bothering him, but he was hard-pressed to figure out why. It wasn't until he was in the middle of drawing blood that a suspicious worm finally settled amongst his gray matter.

Everyone had multiple sides to them. That wasn't news. People acted differently in different situations, around different people. But Ludwig's difference had been extreme to the point where if Gilbert hadn't had a visual to go along with the voice, he might not have recognized his own boyfriend.

Which, in the end, pointed a giant, glowing arrow towards the thought that Gilbert had been avoiding for two weeks.

He really didn't know Ludwig.

At all.

The thought continued to pester him all week. He'd known when he'd said yes to dating Ludwig that he was being more than a little stupid. And probably too in love with the idea of getting to reenact something that logic dictated only happened in romantic comedies. People didn't like each other that fast. Or they shouldn't. And there were very good reasons for exhibiting caution.

Reasons like seeing your boyfriend's gaze turn serial-killer cold when staring down someone. Even a someone you didn't really like.

When he was around Ludwig, however, the slight feeling of unease abated almost immediately. It was difficult to stay cautious when your new boyfriend was someone so attractive they were often confused with a male lady of the evening or whatever (Gilbert refused to liken Ludwig to a prostitute no matter how enticing that particular roleplay sounded). But when he was alone and Ludwig wasn't there to be charming and attentive and kind the unease would make its presence known again. Just a quiet, nagging thing that pointed out that he didn't know anything about Ludwig's family other than that he was an only child with an apparently god-awful number of cousins. Or that he didn't even know where Ludwig had gone to college, where he'd been born, what his favorite foods were, what his pet peeves were besides laziness and dust (which was really just skin flakes and hair follicles being lazy).

And Gilbert wanted so badly to inundate Ludwig with questions. Maybe lock him in a room with a single naked light bulb slowly swinging overhead. One metal folding chair.

But every time Gilbert would talk himself out of it. He'd berate himself for being paranoid. Insecure. Asking too many questions was what often drove people away. They found his constant interest in their lives off-putting and so they'd close up more and more until there was nothing left. A clam fused shut. Pistachio without a crack. And then the only way to crack it open was to take a hammer to the damn thing, and just like with clams and stubborn nuts when you did that to people and relationships it tended to be pretty final. Unlike with clams and pistachios, however, with people and relationships all you were left with was a shattered shell. Nothing even remotely palatable.

So Gilbert kept his mouth shut, latching onto whatever scraps of information Ludwig would offer without prying for more.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. He wasn't built for self-restraint, even though he was good at practicing it. It gave him headaches and made him grouchy. So by the time the banquet rolled around – a mere five days after Ludwig had invited him even though it felt like a fucking age – he was having to pinch himself whenever the urge to pry into Ludwig's life came up.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting his tie. It was one of those new –style ones. All skinny. It made his chest look broad. Ludwig had picked it out for him and as much as it burned having to admit, Ludwig did have better taste than him when it came to clothes. He leaned forward, wrinkling his nose as he studied his hair. With a little sigh he called out, "Ludwig! The gel's not working?"

"Did you put enough in?" Ludwig's voice drifted back from the bedroom.

Gilbert glanced at the gel, distrust in his expression.

"…How much is enough?" he asked finally. "And do I really need to do this? I've been told my natural hair style is very flattering!"

"Your natural hair style makes you look like the villain in a Power Rangers episode."

Gilbert turned to glare at Ludwig who had moved to hover in the doorway.

"Rude," he muttered, tugging at a lock of hair. Partially to try and see if he could get it to cooperate, partially out of nervous habit. He was doing his best not to think about it too hard. That in less than an hour he would be bumping elbows with some of the most important people in the government. Trying to act casual and not like he'd started dating the ambassador's assistant because of a hilarious series of what essentially amounted to sexual one-ups.

"You need to hear the hard truth, Doctor. It's the best way," Ludwig said gently, moving to stand behind Gilbert. Gilbert watched Ludwig in the mirror, tensing slightly as his boyfriend's fingers gently carded back his hair. He burst out laughing, though, when Ludwig made a face.

"Gilbert – did you put the whole bottle in here? Why is it crunchy?"

"Yours is crunchy!" Gilbert protested, leaning back against Ludwig's chest. "It's crunchy all the damn time – why do you think I avoid being adorable and carding my fingers through it? Huh?"

"I assumed your virility impeded you. Wouldn't be able to resist ravishing me every time, no matter how public the venue," Ludwig admitted, carefully pushing back a few locks of hair until they stuck. Gilbert sulked a bit, watching his boyfriend work in the mirror. It was, honestly, a nice view, although it did make him feel a bit like he was being groomed by an older brother or something. Incompetent. That was it. He felt incompetent.

But really there was nothing like seeing yourself and your… significant other (gross) in such a blatantly intimate way. And as narcissistic as Gilbert could be, he was forced to admit that he looked a lot better when Ludwig was in the picture. Less like the printer had run out of ink, anyway.

And the doting look on Ludwig's face didn't hurt.

Gilbert's cheeks colored slightly as he felt Ludwig's chest move against his back. "…This is probably why people have sex in front of mirrors, huh," he mumbled, tugging at his tie. Ludwig gently swatted his hand away and retightened it.

"Probably," he said quietly. "I never really saw the appeal. If I were a vampire and couldn't see myself, sure."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at that little reveal. He tilted his head back, staring up at Ludwig, suddenly not liking the odd disconnect the mirror forced on their eye contact.

"First off, no. Please, never mention vampires in my presence again. And secondly… do you – I mean." He faltered. "Do you not. Like how you look?"

Ludwig gave a dismissive shrug and grabbed a towel to wipe his hands off. "I don't dislike it. But I don't really enjoy looking at myself, no."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and followed Ludwig out of the bathroom, moving gingerly to try and keep from wrinkling his suit. It was the only one he owned. He'd worn it exactly once; to a medical conference where he'd given a speech to try and impress his colleagues before he'd realized that, A. impressing medical colleagues was impossible, and B. he really didn't give a fuck about the pharmaceutical industry since they clearly weren't in it to help the kids.

Needless to say he'd cursed the suit purchase until about a week prior. Shit had been expensive.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but if I looked like you I am a thousand percent sure I would be in a Narcissist relationship with myself," Gilbert ventured. "Common law wed to a mirror, body pillow with my face on it, the whole nine yards."

"I'm glad you like how I look," Ludwig said diplomatically, heading downstairs and into the kitchen. "I, however, don't. Luckily I'm not dating myself so it's not really an issue."

"You really don't – but." Gilbert gestured helplessly, leaning against the wall. "Chiseled jaw lines don't do anything for you? I mean you're dating me so I'd assumed they were at least slightly on your 'I can tolerate this facial feature' list."

"They're fine on you," Ludwig said quietly, pouring himself a cup of coffee even though it was almost seven in the evening. "Let's just say that I'm happier with myself now than I was when I was a teen and leave it at that."

Gilbert's interest piqued. Ludwig rarely talked about himself younger than the age of twenty five. "Acne?" he asked sympathetically. "I'm always amazed how many of my kids are all hung up about acne. Even if they only have half a liver, it's all about the acne."

Ludwig gave him an exasperated look. "No not – all right, not _only_ acne. Although thank you for reminding me of that trauma." He drained his cup of coffee and glanced at his watch. "Town car should be arriving soon. Do you need to borrow a jacket?"

"Nah I'm good. So about younger you," Gilbert said casually, sidling over to Ludwig. "What was it that made you upset? Or, ah… discontent? We'll go with that."

Ludwig clicked his tongue, his expression turning mean for a moment before he pushed past Gilbert into the hallway.

"You're tenacious. That's a polite way to say obstinate, right."

"Well can you blame me? This is the first sign of emotional weakness you've shown me," Gilbert protested, following Ludwig. "Imagine if Buddha descended from paradise and pulled you aside to mumble, 'so I'm actually not all that content with my earlobes because of a past trauma' and then just tried to float away on a cloud again? Wouldn't you be like, 'Fuck, Buddha, wait up you asshole.'"

"You couldn't have chosen a more svelte deity for your analogy?" Ludwig grumbled, tugging open the hall closet. He tugged on a coat and then turned to hand one to Gilbert. "Wear this. It gets cold and as cute as you are when you're borrowing my things I like keeping warm."

Gilbert scowled a bit when Ludwig dodged the question again, but he pulled on the coat with a little sigh.

"Fine, fine," he complained. "I'll drop it, but only because I don't want our first trip as a dating couple to your place of employ to have a dark shadow of your reticence over it."

"Thank you," Ludwig said stiffly, walking over to the front door. He peered through the windows and then gestured for Gilbert. "Car's here."

Gilbert took a moment to examine himself one last time in the hallway mirror before hurrying after Ludwig. He took his boyfriend's hand, threading their fingers together and bumping his shoulder against Ludwig's. When Ludwig hummed and raised an eyebrow at him, Gilbert offered the blonde a smile.

"Cheer up," he quietly ordered. "You get to show me off tonight and watch me vomit from nervousness. It's two birds one stone for you. Live it up."

The pinched lines around Ludwig's eyes loosened and he finally smiled.

"You always assume I enjoy seeing you in pain or expelling bodily fluids. And you know perfectly well there's only one bodily fluid that I don't mind and even that requires a very specific state of arousal to appreciate," Ludwig murmured, his hand drifting just a bit to squeeze Gilbert's thigh as they headed down the front walk. Gilbert squawked and reflexively batted Ludwig's hand away.

"Jesus Christ – the driver's right there being all posh and waiting to open the door for us," he hissed, his whole face red.

"And I'm sure he's heard a lot worse than an unmanly warble," Ludwig said with a little smirk, giving the driver a nod before sliding into the car. "There's a reason the partitions are sound proofed."

Gilbert hesitated before getting into the car, muttering, "Thanks for mentioning bodily fluids and implying clandestine sex in the span of ten seconds. Definitely makes me not regret leaving my industrial-sized hand sanitizer at home."

"I told you two travel-sized ones would be sufficient for a five hour party," Ludwig murmured, resting his hand on Gilbert's knee the moment the door was shut. He raised the partition, waggling his eyebrows at Gilbert, obviously trying to get a laugh out of him.

It worked.

"You're such a loser," Gilbert snickered, pillowing his head against Ludwig's shoulder. "Although half of the lines you say are just playing along with me so I guess I'm half a loser by default."

"Only half? You're not giving yourself enough credit," Ludwig teased, his thumb tracing the outline of Gilbert's kneecap. "Is it true these are just floating?"

"Is it – wait, you mean kneecaps?" Gilbert murmured, his eyes sliding shut. "Yeah, more or less. In laymen's terms. Oh, speaking of which, what are some no-no topics I should avoid?"

"Well, first on that list is the term 'no-no topics.' We prefer to refer to them as 'hot button issues,'" Ludwig said softly. "Other than that… pretty much everything. The politicians like to pretend to be celebrities when they're at semi-informal functions like this. It's a chance for them to show off their wealth and their wives and to make snide remarks about France or Greece or Italy. Nothing deep or heavy. You can talk about your work, although you'll probably get at least half a dozen that try and out-philanthropize you."

"Ooh, maybe I can goad them into donating to the hospital," Gilbert purred, tilting his head to press light kisses to Ludwig's jaw. "We could always use more money, and I'm sure there's some politician out there who could use a cleaner image."

"You're not wrong about that," Ludwig muttered, tilting his head to make things easier for Gilbert. He fell silent, and when he stopped responding completely Gilbert pulled away, mildly concerned.

"…So uh… not… in the mood?" he cautiously ventured, feeling a bit… jilted.

"Huh? Oh!" Ludwig had the decency to look embarrassed and then shook his head. "No, you're fine. It's more. Last time I went to these I was with someone I introduced as my fiancée. And more or less everyone there knew him and, worse, liked him." He gave Gilbert an apologetic look. "This might be a bit. Awkward."

"Awkward," Gilbert repeated, his palms starting to sweat. He wiped them on the seat, glancing nervously out the window. They were already almost downtown where the grand hotels were. He couldn't remember which grand hotel they were going to but it was probably the grandest. Great.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing he'd never been to a social gathering fancier than a children's birthday party. And that at the last one he attended had ended with him drinking single malt scotch out of a fake Viking helmet.

This would probably be a little. Different.

"…So not only do I have to worry about not getting cocktail sauce on my tie, but I have to compete with your invisible ex," he said slowly, resting against the seatback again. "That's. A thing."

"You don't have to compete," Ludwig mumbled, wincing just a bit. "All I'll ask is that you keep in mind that everyone there is… comparing. You."

Gilbert shot Ludwig a withering glare. "That doesn't really help."

"I know," Ludwig mumbled, fiddling with his tie. "I know. And honestly it probably doesn't help that we haven't been dating that long. They'll jump all over that. Especially Natasha. She's got this uncanny knack for saying exactly what's plaguing you. And it doesn't help that she looks like an extra from a Kubrick film."

Gilbert pressed his hand against his face, letting out a slow breath.

"Well. We could always tell the driver to turn around," he mumbled. "But he has to stop at a Taco Bell first. In fact, put Taco Bell on our route regardless. I doubt I'll be able to eat anything there."

"You're not bringing Taco Bell into my house," Ludwig mumbled. "But you can eat it in the yard."

"Like a punished child."

"Like someone who doesn't understand that taco sauce stains…" Ludwig bit his lip when Gilbert gave him a pleading look, and after only a few seconds let out a heavy sigh and looked away. "God – fine. Fine, Taco Bell. In the house. I'll allow it once."

Gilbert laughed weakly and pressed a kiss to Ludwig's cheek, nearly falling into his lap as the car pulled to a stop. He extracted himself and brushed off his suit, casting another nervous glance outside. Their car was one of many in a long line, pulling in front of – oh of course, the Ritz Carlton. Fantastic.

"If I puke on the marble you have to swear you won't deny you know me," Gilbert mumbled, holding onto Ludwig's arm as their driver opened the door for them.

"I'll even use my tie to wipe your mouth. It'll be romantic, I promise. No abandon," Ludwig said quietly, slipping out of the car. He whispered something to the driver before taking Gilbert's hand in his own, gently pulling him towards the brightly lit entryway.

"No abandon – you sound like an internet me me," Gilbert mumbled, ducking his head to hide his smile. "Like that shiba inu. That's a thing you young kids like, right?"

"Gilbert I'm three months younger than you. Calm yourself," Ludwig murmured, but there was a small smile on his face as well. Gilbert noted with a little burst of pride that Ludwig inclined his head towards the doormen who pushed open the enormous, gilded doors for them. Every other person simply strode through, looking all snobby and stuck up like the conceited royal elephants in a Babar movie.

"Setting the bar too high again, Mr. Schmidt," Gilbert said quietly, holding himself a bit straighter as they walked into the lobby. The room was ridiculously ornate. More fireplaces than some small castles were in possession of, and just as many tapestries from the looks of it. Plush rugs, marble, tile floor. Chandelier.

Gilbert spotted a fountain off in one of the corners that was a smaller model of one he recognized from Schonbrunn palace. He glanced up at Ludwig, wanting to show off his knowledge, but the look of utter boredom on his boyfriend's face made him bite back an ungainly snort.

"Ludwig, what's up?" he asked lightly, squeezing Ludwig's hand. "You look like everything here is made of rainforest wood and you're a vigilante howler monkey dead-set on reclaiming it."

Ludwig started out of his little daze and gave him a bizarre look.

"That's… incredibly specific," he said carefully. "Care to dumb it down."

"You look disgusted and vengeful," Gilbert clarified, making a little 'oooh' noise when they walked into the ballroom. Oak paneling. Cathedral ceiling. Banners hanging down from said ceiling with beautiful, embroidered crests on them. Shrimp bar.

Gilbert made a beeline for the crustaceans, pulling Ludwig along. Ludwig followed obediently after him, waving at a few people.

"It's an endless shrimp bar – they won't run out," he said gently when Gilbert began placing handfuls of shrimp on the plate.

"That's wonderful to hear. Has no bearing on my current modus operandi," Gilbert explained, handing Ludwig a plate. "Start shoveling."

Ludwig let out a little sigh but dutifully began placing shrimps (individual ones until Gilbert shot him a warning glare) on the plate. Along with some vegetables and things Gilbert was going to turn a blind eye to.

Plate full, Gilbert retreated to a table in the corner and sat down with his hoard. He began steadfastly peeling shrimps, lining them up like cabaret dancers on his plate. Ludwig took a seat next to him, handing him a napkin before beginning to peel his own stock.

"There will be other food as well. This is one of probably six appetizers," Ludwig said. "I know you don't consider this pertinent but just in case."

"You're awesome for telling me the food schedule, but yeah, no bearing," Gilbert said cheerfully, popping a shrimp in his mouth. He chewed slowly and stared out over the crowd of mingling dignitaries. He recognized several of them. Mostly from television, which was rather terrifying.

"Ludwig have you been on TV?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"A fair amount. I'm not really a fan."

"Oh."

Gilbert gnawed on a shrimp before leaning over to whisper, "There's a lot of fancy people here."

"They're just pretending. Like you," Ludwig whispered back, pressing a peeled shrimp against Gilbert's lip. "Hurry up and eat these. The smell is freaking me out."

Gilbert laughed and accepted the shrimp. "All right, all right. So squeamish," he teased, and then set about destroying his plate in earnest while Ludwig sat silently by to marvel at the spectacle. Like a good boyfriend.

Three minutes later Gilbert sat back with a groan and then staggered to his feet.

"Need to walk it off," he mumbled, holding out his hand for Ludwig. "Shrimp gut."

"That's possibly the grossest thing you've said to me yet," Ludwig said mildly, standing as well. "I need to start making the rounds now that most of the people are here. Stick close, and don't say anything. You smell like a wharf."

"You could have at least picked a cute animal that eats krill rather than a pile of salt-soaked wood," Gilbert complained, letting Ludwig tug him away from their home base. "Penguin. I could smell like a penguin."

"I figured you'd appreciate more Hemmingway-ish imagery instead of two-year-old's picture book, but okay," Ludwig said in clear amusement. He stopped in front of a very put-together woman (probably someone famous) and gave her a small smile. It looked remarkably like one of the ones he'd forced on Roderich a few days ago.

"Madame Baynsk. It's a pleasure to see you again."

The woman smiled back in return, another empty one, and said pleasantly, "Mr. Schmidt. How wonderful to see you."

The two continued to exchange strained pleasantries while Gilbert watched on in solemn amazement. Ludwig really was like a different person. It was painfully obvious that every word choice was a studied one; that his tone, smiles, seemingly flippant gestures were all affected. And the crazy thing was, for as obvious as the whole song and dance was, no one seemed to be at all inclined to call him out on it. The two had soon amassed a small audience, and it wasn't until one of the gathered men cleared his throat and said gently, "And who is your companion?" that Ludwig's act fell away just a bit.

He glanced down at Gilbert, looking, for just a brief moment, oddly exhausted, before he straightened up again.

"My boyfriend, Gilbert. He's a pediatric surgeon at one of our larger hospitals in the city."

There came a polite smattering of murmured acknowledgement, and Gilbert offered the group a small smile. Their eyes were a bit glazed over with disinterest, which he was honestly thankful for. He wasn't really in the mood to talk about his job to a bunch of people who probably made in a day what he made in a year. And who didn't have med school loans to pay off.

"Wonderful to meet you, Gilbert," the first woman said, her blonde, coifed hair bouncing slightly as she nodded.

"A pleasure," Gilbert said politely, tightening his hold on Ludwig's hand. Okay. That should be enough, right? A delicious smell caught him off guard, and he stared longingly across the room. Some sort of quiche. Cheese pie. Something with cheese and crust that contained an entire fryer's worth of lard.

He swallowed heavily and was about to subtly pull Ludwig away when a rich tenor caught his ear.

"Ludwig. How are you."

The use of Ludwig's first name made Gilbert glance around, on edge. It had been 'Mr. Schmidt' this and 'Mr. Schmidt' that all evening. Suddenly a Ludwig.

And then Ludwig sucked in a sharp breath, his hand tightening painfully around Gilbert's until he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. Gilbert winced but followed the line of Ludwig's focus. It landed on a tall, lanky man with wheat blonde hair, pulled into a low ponytail at the base of his slender neck. He was cradling a champagne flute in one hand. The other was wrapped around the waist of a petite girl with large, almond eyes and straight black hair.

The man's gaze slid down to focus on Gilbert for a moment before returning to Ludwig's face.

"I must say I'm a bit surprised to see you here," the man said, and Gilbert caught a note of anxiety in his voice. "I thought – well, it doesn't matter what I thought, does it."

"No, it doesn't," Ludwig said sharply, the pleasant politician façade torn to shreds by the three words. "What are you doing here, Francis?"

Gilbert's eyes widened.

Francis.

A name carved into the waffle iron perched on Ludwig's counter.

Oh.

Gilbert cautiously lifted his eyes, the shrimp in his stomach suddenly flopping around as though alive again. Beheaded ghost shrimp.

Ludwig's ex stood awkwardly by as one by one the politicians took their timid leave. Once they were gone, he cautiously raised his glass.

"A bit forward of me to propose a toast so soon, but… to new relationships, I suppose."

Gilbert was sure the bones in his hand were going to fuse together from how tightly Ludwig was holding onto his hand. He flinched but otherwise remained still, the look of utter fury and hurt on Ludwig's face making it hard to move.

The shrimp in his stomach began their dance anew. Gilbert cast a longing glance towards the door and the inviting patches of nature beyond.

Well he was already in a puking mood. What was one more ride on the emotional tilt-a-whirl.


End file.
